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AUTHOR: 


ISRAELS,  JOSEF 


TITLE: 


SPAIN. 


PLACE: 


LONDON 


DA  TE : 


1900 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 


Master  Negative  # 


BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Original  Material  as  Filmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


r 


946.01 
Is72 


Israels,  Jozef,  1824-1911. 

Spain;  the  story  of  a  journey.  With  pho- 
togravure portrait  and  thirty -nine  reproduc- 
tions of  drawings  by  the  author;  tr.  from  the 
Dutch  by  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos.  London 
J*  ^\   Nimrao^  1900. 

xii,  224  p.  front,  (port.)  illus. 


1..  Spain  -  Descr.  &  trav.  I.  Teixeira  de 
Mattos,  Alexander  Louis,  1865^1921,  tr. 


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SPAIN 


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THE    STORY    OF    A   JOURNEY 


JOZEF    ISRAELS 


".y..agBti^afc.ffig.aEX^u,.£^-t^.^asaae!a 


NoTK. — Mr.  IsRAKLs'  original  drmvings  for  this  hook,  as 
well  as  other  Works  of  the  Painter,  ivill  be  exhibited  early 
in  November  at  the  Holland  Fine  Art  Gallery,  i^^a  Regent 
Street,  IV.,  ivhere  information  as  to  their  price  may  be 
obtained. 


'itbtmi 


JOZEF    ISRAELS 

After  the  Fainting  by  J  AN  VeTH 


SPAIN 


i 


The  Story  of  a  Journey.      By  JOZEF 
ISRAELS.     With  Photogravure 

Portrait  and  Thirty-nine  Repro- 
ductions of  Drawings  by 
the  Author 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   DUTCH   BY 

ALEXANDER   TEIXEIRA    DE    MATTOS 


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Printed  by  Bali.antynk,  Hanson  ir"  Co. 
At  the  Ballantyne  Press 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE 

Mr.  Jozef  Israels,  the  most  powerful  of  the 
modern  Dutch  painters,  was  born  at  Groningen  on 
the  27th  of  January,  1824,  of  Jewish  parents.  After 
spending  a  few  years  in  his  father's  banking-house, 
he  entered  the  studio  of  Jan  Kruseman  in  Amster- 
dam, devoting  himself  to  the  painting  of  historical 
pictures,  an  occupation  which  he  continued  in  Paris, 
where  he  studied  under  Paul  Delaroche. 

It  was  not  until  some  time  after  his  final  return 
to  Holland  that  he  began  to  paint  the  life  around 
him,  simply,  as  he  saw  it,  with  the  earnestness  and 
directness  that  make  him  the  most  lyrical  and  sym- 
pathetic of  living  artists.  This  was  in  the  very  early 
sixties.  Since  then,  he  has  painted  master-piece  upon 
master-piece;  and  his  work  has  ever  been  above 
criticism. 

His  brush  sings  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  humble 
folk.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  writers  who  love 
comparisons  have  spoken  of  him  as  the  Dutch  Millet. 
The  description,  if  not  overflowing  in  originality,  is 
in  no  way  misleading.  But  I  prefer  to  think  of  Mr. 
Israels  as  simply  the  most  popular  painter  of  the 
day,   in    this,    the   best,    sense,    that   his   work   claims 


VI 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE 


the  admiration,  not  only  of  the  critics,  the  collectors, 
and  the  dilettanti,  but  also  of  those  uncultured 
people  who,  knowing  nothing  of  painting,  having 
no  care  for  artisticity  or  virtuosity,  are  yet  pene- 
trated by  the  poetry  that  fills  each  of  the  veteran's 
canvases. 

Mr.  Israels,  although  over  seventy-five  years  of 
age,  is  still  one  of  the  busiest  of  men.  In  the  spring 
of  1898  he  permitted  himself  a  holiday,  in  company 
with  his  son  Isaac,  himself  a  painter  of  merit,  and  Mr. 
Frans  Erens,  a  young  man  of  letters.  This  holiday 
took  the  form  of  a  journey  through  Spain  and  is  the 
subject  of  the  present  volume. 

A.  T.  mi  M. 

LoNDOX,  September,   1899. 


ALEIDA 

A  flower  in   my  garden  grewy 
A  flower  fair  and  fragile ;    and 
There  came  a   tempest^   broke  its  stem, 
And  cast  it  down   in   the  dry  sand. 

This  is  the  image  of  my  dear, 
Of  her  who  filled  ivith  joy  my  life, 
Of  her  within   whose   eyes  I  read 
My  wealth  and  solace — my  sweet  wife. 


She  is  no  more ;    but  ever  yet 
Her  image  fxlh  me,  at  all  times : 
IVherefore  to  her  I  dedicate 
This  little  hook  in   halting  rhymes. 


Vll 


Everything  has,  in  a  fashion,  its  peculiar 
character.  The  end  which  we  achieve  by 
painting,  we  cannot  attain  by  music  or  letters  ; 
and  if,  again,  a  man  would  tell  a  story,  or  set 
forth  his  opinions  on  this  matter  or  that,  it  is 
necessary  that  he  talk  or  write.  Therefore 
I  have  for  this  once  changed  the  gliding 
pencil  for  the  scratching  pen,  and  put  aside 
the  many-coloured  paints  to  do  the  best  I  can 
with  sober  ink. 


IX 


CONTENTS 


BY  WAY  OF  COMMENCEMENT 
THE  TRAVELLING  PARTY 
ON  THE  ROAD  . 

PARIS 

IN  THE  TRAIN  . 
FIRST  DAYS  IN   SPAIN    . 
BURGOS         .... 
MADRID 

•  •  • 

KERMESSE  ... 

THE  PRADO  REVISITED 
THE  BULL-FIGHT     . 
EL  ESCORIAL      . 
TOLEDO        .... 
SUNDAY  AT  TOLEDO 
CORDOVA     .... 
CORDOVA  CATHEDRAL 
SEVILLE 
CHURCH  FESTIVALS 

MURILLO 

AFRICA 

TANGIER 

AN  AFRICAN  LANDSCAPE 
DEPARTURE  FROM  TANGIER 

GIBRALTAR 

xi 


PAGE 
I 

4 
6 

9 

12 

19 

28 

39 

45 

49 

54 

59 

65 
70 

7^ 
81 

90 

99 
109 

112 

120 

126 

131 

133 


Xll 

ALGECIRAS 

THE  FERIA 

RONDA 

GRANADA    . 

THE  ALHAMBRA 

GYPSIES 

A  SOLITARY  WALK 

IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 

MADRID  REVISITED 

TO  VALENCIA    . 

THE  CID 

TO  BARCELONA 

BARCELONA 

DEPARTURE  FROM  SPAIN 


CONTENTS 


INDEX 


.  134 

.  139 

•  144 

•  154 

.  156 

.  162 

.  169 

.  174 

■  179 

185 

188 

•         • 

196 

•         • 

199 

•         • 

210 

!2I 


.^! 


BY   WAY   OF    COMMENCEMENT 

JriERE,  on  the  table  at  which  I  write,  lies  a  little 
book  which  I  always  take  up  with  a  certain  satisfac- 
tion. True,  it  bears  evidence  of  having  been  long 
used  and  many  times  consulted,  for  its  pages  are 
creased,  its  binding  almost  worn  away ;  but  this  could 
not  well  be  otherwise,  for  the  book  has  so  long  been 
the  trusty  guardian  of  all  my  observations  and  reflec- 
tions, and  in  it  I  have  noted  down  all  that  I  saw  or 
heard  on  the  journey  of  which  I  propose  to  tell  you. 

Anxious   as    I    was   for   its    preservation,    I    often 
thought  that  it  was  lost :  now  it  was  hidden  in  this, 


* 


2  BY    WAY    OF    COMMENCEMENT 

now  in  that  side-pocket,  or  worse,  buried  in  a  portfolio 
filled  with  drawings  of  every  kind  and  size  ;  but  happily, 
in  spite  of  all  that,  in  spite  of  having  accompanied  me 
wherever  I  went,  and  experienced  the  strangest  places 
of  concealment,  it  landed  safely  here,  in  the  right  place, 
on  my  return  home. 

Yet  I  believe  for  certain  that,  if  any  one,  prompted 
by  curiosity  or  interest,  should  cast  a  glance  into  my 
little  book,  he  would  shrug  his  shoulders  and  lay  it 
aside.  He  would  make  nothing  of  all  those  marks 
and  little  drawings,  filled  up  with  crosses  and  notes 
of  exclamation,  a  confusion  of  red  and  black  chalk, 
in  which  are  drawings  of  little  landsca])es  and  little 
figures,  with  all  kinds  of  notes  and  comments  written 
across  them  in  ink,  here  and  there  corrected  or  erased. 

For  me,  however,  this  is  very  different.      I  have  but 
for  a  moment  to  fix  my  attention  on  any  one  of  these 
pages  to  be  carried  forthwith  to  the  place  to  which  it 
refers  ;  yes,  at  the  very  first  glance,  I  once  more  hear  and 
see  all  that  by  its  means  is  recalled  to  me.     Again  I  ride 
on  my  little  grey  steed  through  the  glorious  heights  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  again  I  hear  the  cheers  of  the  wildly 
excited  crowds  at  the  bull-fights.    Then,  too,  the  pictures 
at    the  Prado    appear    clearly    before    my    vision  ;    and 
fierce  Tangiers,  and  noble  Granada,  and  ever  so  much 
more — all  stands  out  distinctly  before  my  eyes.     After  I 
had  returned  to  my  own  house  and  my  own  arm-chair, 
I  often  sat  dreaming  over  that  little  book  by  the  still 
light  of  the  lamp,  and  the  idea  came  upon  me  of  disen- 
tangling all  it  contains  and  writing  it  down.     Now  I 
have  brought  a  certain  order  into  the  wilderness,  and  I 
will  begin  by  telling  how,  one  fine  morning  in  April,  I 
stood  in  my  garden  thinking  over  my  journey. 


BY    WAY    OF    COMMENCEMENT  3 

It  was  early  on  an  April  morning,  a  little  windy  and 
cool,  as  is  usual  with  us ;  but  the  sun  shone  gaily  from 
out  the  blue  sky  strewn  with  white  clouds.  It  gleamed 
in  each  dew-clad  blade  of  grass,  and  upon  the  newly- 
opened  pink  blossoms  of  my  peach-trees.  In  my  sitting- 
room  reigned  a  particular  delight.  Three  windows  were 
thrown  open  wide  upon  the  Malieveld,  and  the  leafy 
boughs  of  the  trees  standing  before  the  house  would 
make  one  think  that  my  room  is  built  out  in  a  garden. 
And  here  I  live  surrounded  by  beautiful  faces  of  women  : 
on  one  wall  hangs  Raphael's  Dresden  Madonna,  and 
on  the  other  the  Madonna  by  Holbein  ;  and  under  each 
of  these  hangs  a  portrait  of  her  whom  I  myself  have 
canonized.  A  little  further  hangs  Rembrandt's  Night 
Watch,  which  always  reminds  me  of  the  mighty  witch- 
craft that  lies  in  painting.  And  when  in  the  morning 
the  sunlight  plays  and  frolics  among  all  this,  and  break- 
fast stands  ready,  and  the  water  sings  in  the  tea-kettle 
— at  such  a  moment  I  look  round  in  this  little  corner  of 
the  world,  arranged  for  me  alone,  and  I  rejoice. 


THE   TRAVELLING    PARTY 

oUDDENLY  the  door  opened,  and  two  youths  entered 
the  room.  It  was  my  son,  accompanied  by  a  young  man 
of  ahnost  the  same  age  and  figure. 

"  My  friend  Erens,"  said  he,  introducing  him. 

''Ah,"  I  cried,  as  I  gave  him  my  hand,  *'  I  am  glad 
to  welcome  the  author  of  Beybke.  " 

Erens  bowed  and  laughed,  as  he  replied  : 

"  Well,  I  should  really  never  have  ventured  to  give 
you  that  lady's  name  as  my  reference." 

Yet  this  story  of  Bcrbke  had  touched  me  greatly 
when  I  read  it.  It  is  a  simple  tale  of  a  foolish,  half- 
witted peasant-girl,  who  is  laughed  at  wherever  she 
appears,  who  is  dismissed  from  all  the  places  where  she 
goes  into  service,  and  who  is  at  last  found  dead  by  the 
roadside— filthy  and  starved.  Figures,  landscape,  and 
surroundings,  all  were  well  seen,  well  felt. 

"I  ran  see,"  said  my  son,  "that  I  have  not  done 
wrong.  I  wanted  to  propose  that  you  should  take  my 
friend  with  us  as  the  third  of  our  company,  and  for 
the  three  of  us  to  do  the  journey  together,  if  you 
approve." 

"A  happy  thought,"  said  I.  "Painters  judge 
everything  from  outside  appearances,  and  rightly,  for 
that  is  their  only  province.  But  it  will  be  a  great 
privilege  to  take  a  poet  and    philosopher  with   us  to 


THE    TRAVELLLXG    PARTY  5 

seize   and   retain   the   profounder   suggestion  of  what 
passes." 

A  parcel  of  books  which  "  the  young  gentleman  " 
had  left  in  the  hall  was  brought  in  by  the  servant. 

"  Look  here,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  here  is  some  splendid 
reading  to  prepare  us  on  the  road  :  Philippe  IL,  roi  de 
totites  les  Espagnes,  dapres  des  doctmients  rdce^itment 
ddcotiverts.  Then  I  have  a  pleasantly  written  book  by 
Theophile  Gauthier  on  his  Spanish  journey;  and  a 
splendid  little  book  by  an  unknown  author,  L Espag7ie 
cJievaleresqtte,  and  a  collection  of  Lettres  stir  rEspagne 
by  all  sorts  of  people,  men  and  women ;  and  when  we 
have  read  all  that,  I  have  still  got  the  Cid  and  some 
plays  by  Calderon  and  Lope  de  Vega." 

"  Good  heavens,  what  a  number  of  books !  "  I  cried. 
"  Those  may  be  all  very  well,  but  I  have  what  will  be 
of  more  direct  use  to  us,  two  books  which  can  serve  as 
guide-books:  one  is  by  a  polite  and  diffuse  French- 
man, Germond  de  la  Vigne ;  the  other  by  Hartleben, 
a  well-informed  and  precise  German.  We  shall  see 
them  differing  sometimes,  and  be  able  to  judge  which 
is  right." 

We  all  three  brought  our  chairs  up  to  the  table. 
A  large  map  of  Spain  was  spread  out  upon  it,  and  we 
sat  with  books  and  papers  before  us,  measuring  heights 
and  distances,  and  already  travelling  in  our  fancy  across 
the  rivers  and  mountains  of  Spain  to  Cadiz,  to  Morocco 
and  Tangiers,  the  nearest  city  in  dusky  Africa. 


I 


ON    THE    ROAD 


ON   THE    ROAD 

We  had  fixed  the  first  of  the  fair  month  of  May  for 
our  departure.  I  passed  everything  in  my  house  in 
a  last  survey,  from  the  cellar  to  the  garret  and  ...  . 
my  studio!  Yes,  one  last  farewell  to  my  working- 
den,  which  always  tries  to  hold  me  indoors ;  and  then 
I  flew  downstairs  to  join  my  travelling-companions, 
who  were  impatiently  awaiting  me  below. 

The  travelling-carriage  stood  before  the  door,  sur- 
rounded   by  the   usual    inquisitive   crowd,   and   when 
leave  had  been  taken  all  round,  my  thoughtful  friend 
van  Witsen  whispered  in  my  son's  ear : 
"  Be  sure  and  take  care  of  the  governor." 
"Oh,"  cried  my  son,  "  make  your  mind  easy ;  from 
henceforth  I  am  courier,  paymaster,  and  keeper,  any- 
thmg  you    please;    and   our    friend    Erens   will    put 
down  everything  in  verse.     Whip  up,  coachman  •  to 
opain  ! 

Thus  we  drove  into  the  world  that  day,  intent 
upon  everything  that  should  present  itself.  '  Dutch 
painters  are  strange  people  to  undertake  a  journey. 
Scarcely  have  they  taken  their  seats  in  the  train 
before  they  begin  to  admire  their  own  country:  we 
commenced  as  soon  as  we  reached  Rotterdam.  Look 
those  shadows  of  the  clouds  on  the  meadows;  and 
those  willow-trees  over  there,  mirrored  in  the  surface 


of  the  water!  What  a  pity  one  can't  make  a  study 
here  and  now.  There  is  no  country  so  beautiful 
as  ours. 

And  in  Belgium  the  landscape,  the  perspectives, 
the  houses  and  figures  do,  in  fact,  become  much  less 
attractive  ;  but  we  soon  covered  the  distance,  shut  our 
eyes  tight  at  the  Antwerp  fortifications,  and  stepped 
out  at  Brussels,  which  was  our  first  station. 

We  had  naturally  intended  to  retire  to  rest  at 
Brussels  soon  after  dinner,  but  our  waiter  came  up  to 
us,  fawning  and  bowing,  and  asked  if  he  should  order 
seats  for  us  for  Wagner's  Iristait  mid  Isolde— eine 
schone  Abendunterlialtimg  he  called  it— and  thus,  at 
the  commencement  of  our  journey,  we  fell  plump  into 
the  midst  of  the  most  passionate  love-story  ever  set 
forth  in  music. 

Ah,  how  much  rather  had  I  seen  Heaven  open 
before  me  in  Figaros  Hochzeit ;  yet  I  was  glad  to 
hear  the  other  masterpiece  too.  For  there  is  so  much 
that  is  beautiful  without  being  just  the  one  thing  of  all 
that  touches  your  heart-strings,  because  it  strikes  you 
as  proceeding  from  the  same  atmosphere  in  which  you 
yourself  live  and  rejoice.  And  so  we  went ;  and  I  sat 
and  let  the  glorious  flood  of  harmony  of  Wagner  s 
poem  pass  over  me  ;  I  wished  to  stay  till  the  end,  the 
real  end;  and  when  I  beheld  the  curtain  fall  with  a 
sense  of  relief— for  I  felt  beaten  and  oppressed  by  all 
I  had  seen  and  heard— I  looked  round  for  my  com- 
panions. 

''  AIiT'  said  the  attendant.  '' Ces  fnessieurs  n'y 
out  pas  tenny 

So  I  walked  back  to  my  hotel  alone,  in  the  moon- 
light, dreaming  and  musing  as  I  went.    Had  I  enjoyed 


4 


8 


ON    THE    ROAD 


myself,  had  I  been  charmed  by  the  magic  which  had 
played  about  me?  I  could  not  give  myself  a  true 
account  of  it,  I  was  under  the  influence  of  an  inde- 
scribable nervous  impression,  produced  by  the  music 
of  love  and  longing  which  still  murmured  around  me 
....  until,  without  knowing  how,  I  got  into  bed  and 
fell  asleep,  convinced  that  on  my  waking  I  should  find 
the  noble  Isolde  standing  by  the  head  of  my  Brussels 
bedstead. 

When  I  awoke  I  saw,  not  Isolde,  but  my  two 
travelling-companions  standing  by  my  side,  and  apolo- 
gizmg  for  their  mysterious  disappearance  last  night. 
They  had  been  overcome,  they  said,  with  yawning  and 
sleepmess,  and  were  full  of  the  fun  they  had  had  at 
a  music-hall  hard  by  the  hotel.  They  called  to  me 
to  come  down  to  breakfast  before  the  train  left  for 
Paris. 


PARIS 

1  O  the  traveller  to  a  foreign  land  the  journey  via 
Paris  means — as  in  our  case — a  spoke  in  his  wheel. 
How  can  he  pass  through  Paris  without  lingering  a 
while?  There  are  only  three  trains  a  week  to  Madrid  ; 
and  thus,  by  means  of  careful  calculation,  we  were  able 
to  employ  our  time  pleasantly. 

Paris  is  for  many  good  people  the  one  city  of 
enjoyment  and  delight.  You  have  but  to  look  at  the 
boulevard,  with  all  those  gentlemen  and  ladies  who 
sit  before  the  cafds  staring,  where  there  is  nothing  to 
see,  or  crowd  hurrying  along  the  pavement,  with  no 
destination  in  view.  It  is  as  though  that  multitude 
had  always  sat,  and  would  ever  continue  to  sit,  there. 
And  then  the  brilliant  dancing-places,  Jardin  de  Paris, 
or  whatever  they're  called,  where  gay  women  and 
sinister  idlers  foregather,  where  a  glaring  illumination 
lights  up  nothing  but  tasteless  arbours  and  saloons 
crammed  with  mirrors  and  bars,  and  where  a  noisy 
merriment  reigns  on  every  side — under  police  super- 
vision, if  you  please. 

But  you  can  also,  seated  like  a  swell  in  your 
carriage,  ride  up  and  down  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
surrounded  by  hundreds  of  other  carriages,  all  of 
which,  with  the  same  object,  or  rather  without  any 
object,   drive    up  and    down,   round    and   round,   at   a 

9  B 


10 


PARIS 


PARIS 


II 


walking-  pace,  in  one  long  array,  before,  behind,  on 
either  side  of  you,  always  the  same  coachmen,  the 
same  horses'  heads,  until  at  last  you  drive  home  again 
amid  a  crush  of  others  like  yourself.  Perhaps  you 
have  first  tried  to  find  a  shady  corner  in  a  restaurant ; 
but  the  crowd  of  people  has  made  this  difficult,  and 
if  you  have  stayed  some  little  while,  and  have  not  spent 
enough  to  please  the  proprietor,  you  can  be  asked  to 
vacate  your  seat  in  favour  of  a  more  profitable  customer. 
Do  you  enjoy  this  sort  of  thing?     I  don't. 

Talk  to  me  rather  of  the  really  gay  and  interesting 
side  of  Paris,  the  beautiful  city,  the  excellent  theatres, 
the  pleasant  matinees,   the  concerts,   lectures,  and   ex- 
hibitions which  you  find  nowhere  else  ;  and  the  delight- 
ful parks,  full  of  fragrant  flowers  and  plants,  the  rich 
museums    and    libraries,    the    many   public    buildings 
where  you  feel  so  much  at  home,  thanks  to  the  pleasant 
arrangements  made  on  the  visitors'  behalf.       That  is 
what  makes  Paris  the  unique  metropolis,  where  every 
one,  whatever  his  branch  of  art  or  science,  whatever 
his  hobby,  can  find  all  that  interests  him,  and  much 
more  than  he  ever  expected  to  find. 

Once  again  we  had  proofs  of  this  in  the  very  short 

time  at  our  disposal.     By  a  mere  chance,  we  walked 

into  a  little  theatre  in  which  a  confdycncc  was  beino- 

held.     On  the  stage  sat  a  grave  gentleman,  who  con> 

mented  upon  a  poem  which  was  presently  recited  by  a 

young  lady  ;  and  she  did  this  with  such  consummate 

taste,  clearness,  and  sweet  sympathy  as  really  to  incline 

one  to  believe  that  with  no  language  but  the  French 

so  fine  an  effect  could  be   obtained.      And    then    the 

actors,  even   those  of  the    Palais-Royal  :    is   it  not  as 

though  those  people  really  exist  amid   the  situations 


in  which  they  are  placed,  and  as  though  they  do  not 
know  that  they  are  treading  the  boards? 

Then  again  w^e  visited  a  most  charming  exhibition 
of  works  by  Paul  Renouard,  which  alone  was  worth 
a  journey  to  see.  But  \ve  were  also  duped  by  our 
curiosity  into  looking  in  upon  the  exhibition  of  the 
peintres  indcpendants.  Here  the  symbolists,  the  free 
aesthetes,  \\iQ point illeurs,  and  naturalists  of  all  countries 
had  joined  hands  ;  even  a  Dutch  lady  had  sent  in  a 
horrible  thing  for  exhibition.  However,  a  little  dinner 
and  a  good  glass  of  wine  soon  set  us  right.  The  time 
had  come  to  take  leave  of  Lutetia,  and  with  bae  and 
baggage  we  sped  to  the  Gare  d'Orleans. 


IN    THE    TRAIN 


13 


iJt 


IN   THE   TRAIN 

We  arrived  at  the  station  at  about  half-past  five,  and 
after  a  long  search  the  guard  found  the  compartment 
which  had  been  reserved  for  our  party.  It  was  a  great, 
long  train,  the  train  de  luxe  which  was  to  take  us  to 
San  Sebastian  ;  the  guard,  a  Spaniard  with  grave  and 
distinguished  manners,  showed  us  to  the  seats  we  had 
engaged,  and  we  disposed  our  belongings  so  as  to 
ensure  our  comfort  on  the  day  and  night  journey.  We 
next   went,  with  the  greatest  curiosity,   to  inspect  all 


there  was  to  be  seen  in  this  corridor  train,  with  its 
restaurant,  smoking-room,  and  so  on ;  but  when  we 
returned  from  our  expedition  to  our  own  compartment, 
No.  7,  rubbing  our  hands  with  pleasure  at  being  by 
ourselves  again  after  all  this  mixture,  we  opened  our 
eyes  with  disappointment  and  surprise.  For  we  found 
installed  in  our  carriage  an  elderly  gentleman,  who, 
sitting  at  his  ease,  pulled  off  his  shoes,  put  on  a  pair 
of  carpet  slippers,  drew  a  woollen  travelling-cap  over 
his  ears,  laid  his  pocket-handkerchief  and  snuff-box 
upon  our  table,  and  seemed  to  be  making  himself 
quite  comfortable  in  the  compartment  which  we  had 
engaged  for  ourselves.  We  looked  at  one  another, 
at  a  loss  what  to  say  or  do. 

''Mais,  monsieur!''  I  said,  restraining  my  annoy- 
ance as  best  I  could.  "  Monsieur,  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  I  should  be  alone  here  with  my  friends. 
Have  I  made  a  mistake,  and  have  I  come  to  the  wrong 
carriage  ?  " 

I  was  quite  sure  that  I  had  made  no  mistake,  and 
only  asked  the  question  so  as  to  show  the  man  the 
impropriety  of  his  behaviour.  I  refused  to  listen  to 
his  arguments,  shouted  angrily  through  the  window 
for  the  guard,  and  red  in  the  face,  and  with  quivering 
hands,  resumed  my  seat.  In  fact,  I  believe  that  we 
all  three  cast  furious  glances  at  the  intruder,  who 
threatened  to  make  life  miserable  for  us  at  the  very 
commencement  of  our  journey. 

The  little  old  man,  on  the  other  hand,  turned  a 
very  friendly  and  engaging  face  towards  us,  and  sat 
down  calmly  in  the  place  in  dispute.  With  an  easy 
and  peaceful  smile,  he  said  : 

"You  are  quite  right,  gentlemen,   those  are  your 


14 


IN    THE    TRAIN 


I  I 


seats  ;  but  if  you  will  read  this,  you  will  see  that  this 
one  is  mine." 

He  very  politely  showed  us  his  ticket,  and  proved  to 
us  in  the  friendliest  fashion  that  we  had  been  deceived 
in  thinking  we  had  booked  the  whole  compartment  ; 
we  had  only  paid  for  three  seats,  the  compartment 
held  four,  and  this  fourth  seat  belonged  to  him  Senor 
lenorio. 

We  found  ourselves  in  a  ridiculous  and  difficult 
position,  when  it  became  necessary  to  change  our 
recent  hostile  tone  into  one  of  civil  intercourse.  But 
it  was  easy  to  get  the  ship  of  conversation  afloat  with 
so  polite  a  man  ;  and  it  soon  appeared  that  our  sup- 
posed enemy  was  the  very  man  to  entertain  us  with 
all  sorts  of  interesting  things,  just  as  though  we  had 
engaged  him  for  the  purpose. 

He  told  us  that  he  was  born  in  Madrid,  had  been 
Spanish  Ambassador  at  St.  Petersburg,  was  now  living 
in   his   native  country,   and   returning  from   a  trip  to 
Paris.       He  discussed   the  correctness   of  our   guide- 
books ;  told  us  what  to  see  and  what  was  of  no  im- 
portance;  talked  of  the   Spanish   character  and    how 
best    to   treat    it;  proved    himself,    in   short,   a   living 
guide-book  and  an   entertaining  companion,  an  adept 
both  at  travelling  and  conversation.     And  it  was  this 
kind,  friendly,  gentle  Spaniard  whom  we  had  wanted 
to  expel  from  our  cage  like  a  wild  bird.     Our  attitude 
must  have  appeared    constrained,   but  Senor  Tenorio 
did    not    allow   us    to    perceive   that    he    noticed    any 
alteration. 

Fortunately  the  cook  came  to  relieve  us  from  our 
embarrassment,  with  the  announcement  that  dinner 
was  served ;  and  this  business,  so  generally  welcomed, 


IN    THE    TRAIN 


15 


in  our  case  marked  a  total  transition  from  war  to  peace. 
We  pressed  our  friend  Tenorio  to  go  in  to  dinner  with 
us,  an  invitation  which  was  gladly  accepted. 

We  passed  along  a  gangway  running  between  the 
benches,  and  came  to  a  little  narrow  bridge  which 
hung  between  heaven  and  earth,  shook  violently  as 
we  stepped  upon  it,  and  connected  the  drawing-room 
with  the  dining-room  car.  There  we  sat  in  easy  arm- 
chairs, each  party  at  a  separate  table,  beside  a  large 
window.  But  it  was  difficult  to  let  one's  eyes  rest 
upon  any  object,  or  to  keep  one's  thoughts  collected. 
The  noise  and  clatter  of  spoons  and  plates,  bottles 
and  glasses,  within  was  nothing  to  the  roar  of  the 
wind,  the  thunder  and  rattling  of  the  train,  without. 
Everything  was  in  movement;  the  sky  drifted  with 
fleeting  clouds,  whose  sharp  edges  looked  like  wrought 
gold.  Everything  moved,  shook,  and  shivered;  and 
amid  all  this  bustle  we  endeavoured  to  exalt  the  every- 
day business  of  eating  and  drinking  by  calling  for  a 
bottle  of  champagne,  so  as  to  put  ourselves  in  temper 
with  the  general  movement  around  us. 

It  is  wonderful  how  one's  geniality  and  sociability 
increase  with  the  after-dinner  cigar.  We  exchanged 
questions  and  answers  as  to  our  respective  circum- 
stances, families,  and  modes  qf  life ;  we  ended  by  ask- 
ing our  friend  Tenorio  if  he  was  married.  He  took 
a  very  handsome  snuff-box  from  his  pocket;  for  he 
was  constantly  taking  snuff  between  the  puffs  of  his 
cigarette,  a  habit  common  among  Spaniards.  He 
showed  us  the  box,  which  had  a  lid  of  inlaid  ivory, 
charmingly  painted  with  the  portrait  of  a  young 
woman.  He  calmly  replaced  the  snuff-box  in  his 
pocket,  and  said  : 


i6 


IN    THE    TRAIN 


"The  original  of  that  portrait   was   the  woman    I 
loved,    but   whether    I    was    really  married   to  her   or 
not  I  am,  alas,  unable  to  say.     I  may  tell  you  that  in 
my  youth   I  was  very  different  from  the  man  you  see 
before  you,   and    my  apparent    repose,    which    I    have 
since  acquired,  did  not  at  that  time  form  part  of  my 
nature.     I  belong  to  a   real   Spanish    family;  we  are 
men  of  strong  and  tempestuous  passions ;  but  I  have 
learnt   much    in   the  course  of  my  diplomatic  career. 
Many   years    ago,    however,    I    was    attached    to    the 
legation  at  one  of  the  small  German  courts.     I  was  dark 
of  hair  and    complexion,    quick-tempered,    perhaps    a 
little  fierce  in  manner.    I  dared  everything  and  believed 
in  my  luck.     Like  all  Spaniards,   I  loved  music;  and 
in  the  evening,  when  I  was  not  wanted  at  the  minister  s, 
I   used  to  visit  a  first-rate  music-master.     Of  course 
there  was  a  daughter.     She  did  not  speak  much,  and 
sat  listening  in  a  corner ;  but  her  dark  eyes  and  agree- 
able manners  seemed  to  convey  to  me  all  that  a  young 
man  of  twenty-five  looks  for  in  a  girl  of  eighteen.     I 
think  she  was  one  of  the  most  singular  women  in  the 
world.     She  was  always  active,  always  taking  part  in 
things ;  but  she  never  seemed  to  reflect.     She  drifted 
on,  and  somehow  we  found  ourselves  being  married 
by  a  parson  of  the  so-called  Free  Communion,  since 
she  was  a  Protestant  and  I  a  Catholic.     Her  parents 
refused  to  accept  the  marriage,  declared  it  illegal,  and 
brought  a  complaint  before  the  courts,  their  daughter 
being   still   a   minor.     There  was   nothing  for  it  but 
that  each   of  us  should  go  our  own  way;  for  I  was 
entirely   dependent    upon    my   family,   who  were  very 
strict  Catholics  and  threatened  to  disown  me.     In  the 
face  of  prospective  poverty  our  union  came  to  an  end. 


IN    THE    TRAIN 


17 


I    worked    hard,    however,    and    met   with    promotion 
and  success  at  St.  Petersburg;  but  many  years  passed, 
I  know  not  how  many,  before  I  felt  justified  in  seek- 
ing out  my  first  love,  so  that  I  might  contract  a  lawful 
marriage  with    her.     Midway  on   the  journey,    I   met 
a  member  of  her  family,   who   still    remembered   me. 
I  asked  him  a  number  of  eager  questions,  and  learned, 
to  my  amazement,   that   my  former  wife   was    legally 
married   to  a   professor   at  the  high-school,  and   that 
they   were    living   happily   together.     I   was    dejected 
and   dismayed,  decided  not    to   continue    my  journey, 
and    returned   to   the   place   whence   I    had  come.     A 
fortnight  later  I  received  a  letter  from  her  which  sur- 
prised   but    did    not    pain    me.       She    set    forth    the 
reasons   which    had    made    it    impossible    for    her    to 
remain  unmarried  :  the  difficulty  of  providing  for  her- 
self,   insults    received   at   home,   love   for   her   present 
husband.     These  had  driven  her  into  marriage.     She 
had  not  forgotten  me.     She  invited  me  to  spend  a  few 
weeks  with   herself  and  her  husband,  who  knew  our 
story ;  and  she  relied  upon  the  moral  rectitude  of  her 
husband,  of  myself,  of  herself.     This  letter  aroused  in 
me  a  feeling  of  sadness  and  depression  ;   it  gave  me 
a  sense  of  the  futility  of  all  our  work  and  striving,  of 
the  loss  of  all  our  illusions.     Since  that  time  I  have 
abandoned  sanguine    ideas   concerning  marriage,  and 
all  my  happiness  lies  in  peace  and  quiet." 

Gradually  we  too  had  been  lulled  to  peace  and 
quietness,  partly  by  the  recital,  partly  by  the  darkness 
without.  Night  had  fallen,  and  one  by  one  the 
travellers  left  the  dining-room.  Overcome  with  sleep, 
we  crossed  the  mysterious  little  bridge,  and  returned 
to  our  sombre  compartment. 


i8 


IN    THE    TRAIN 


It  was  a  barren  night ;  and  they  call  this  the  train 
de  Ittxe!    Oh,  for  my  easy  bed  and  spacious  bedroom. 
Here  I  lay,  outstretched,  for  my  pleasure,  like  a  monk 
on    the  gridiron  ;    the   ceiling   formed   a   second   bed, 
but  a  couple  of  feet  above  my  head  :  another  traveller 
lay  above  me,  coughing,   moaning,  snoring.     I   dozed 
now  and    again,   though    I    ached    in    every  joint.      I 
slept  and  waked  together ;  I  dreamt  unceasingly ;  one 
of  my  oldest  friends,  long  dead,  raised  a  threatening 
finger  to  me   and    conjured  me  to  go   no    further,  to 
turn  back   forthwith.      He  lay  across   my  chest;    but 
now  and  then  a  scream  came  from  the  engine,  driving 
every  dream   away.     Then   I   would   look  around  ;  all 
was  darkness  about  me,  save  that  red  gleaming  sparks 
seemed  to  fill  the  gloom  and  constantly  hurt  my  eyes. 
The   thunder   and    rattle   of  the    train    hurt    my  poor 
head  ;  the  engine  was  mine  enemy,  that  took  no  heed 
of  my  silent  plaints,  tearing  on  incessantly.     Suddenly 
I  received  the  strange  impression  that  a   change  had 
come  over  our  movement ;   the  thumping  and  bump- 
ing of  the  train  decreased,  it  seemed  to  suffer  inward 
convulsions,  to  breathe  with  difficulty.     And  in  truth 
the  train  had   stopped.     There  is  a  little  window  in 
my   bunk,   with  a   curtain  over  it,  penetrated   by   the 
soft  grey  morning  light.     Yes,  yes,  we  have   crossed 
the   frontier,    we   are   at   Irun.     My   friends,   welcome 
to  Spain  ! 


FIRST   DAYS    IN   SPAIN 

FROM  Irun  to  San  Sebastian  is  "just  a  step,"  as 
my  friend  Mesdag  would  say.  We  reached  our  destina- 
tion quite  early  in  the  morning;  but  I  was  too  tired, 
and  was  suffering  too  much  from  the  effects  of  my 
privations  of  the  night,  to  look  round  at  the  new 
sights  that  offered  to  my  view.  Let  me  confess  that 
the  first  thing  I  did  in  the  land  of  Don  Quixote  and 
Gil  Bias  was  to  creep  between  the  sheets  and  fall 
asleep,  with  the  blissful  sensation  of  stability  beneath 
me  and  stillness  all  around. 

I   had  slept  delightfully  for  about  an  hour,  when 

19 


p 

3 


20 


FIRST  DAYS  IN  SPAIN 


FIRST  DAYS  IN  SPAIN 


I   was  awakened  by  the  fine  clear  liyht  streaming-  in 
upon  me.     I  found  that  I  was  housed  in  a  real  Spanish 
room,  with  walls  distempered  in  a  thin  cobalt  blue,  a 
very  large  window  with  a  balcony  and  iron  rail,  and 
a   real    stone    floor    paved   with    red    octagonal    tiles. 
True,   a  very   narrow  strip  of  carpet   lay  just   in    the 
middle  of  the  space  before  the  bed  (which  was  many 
sizes  too  largre  for  me),  and  it  was  therefore  possible 
for  me,  by  getting  out  very  carefully,  to  safeguard  my 
feet    against    the    first   cold   shock   of  the   red   paving. 
But  my  attention  w^as  soon  drawn  from  my  surround- 
ings   by   a   sight   which    I    saw   approaching    from    a 
distance  through  the  great  window. 

I  had  no  time  to  lose  if  I  did  not  wish  this  spec- 
tacle  to   pass    before    I    had   well    seen    it;   and    half- 
dressed,  half  in  my  night-clothes,  I  quickly  threw  up 
the  window  and  stepped  out  on   the  balcony.     There 
I  stood,  happy  as  a  child,  thinking  everything  remark- 
able that  presented  itself  before   my  eyes,  and  looking 
upon  the  carycfero  passing  beneath  my  balcony,  with 
his   great  waggon    loaded   \\\\h    wood,   and    his  great 
oxen,  as  a  Spanish  procession  of  the  first  class  arranged 
in    my   honour.       The   driver,  a   tall  dark  fellow,^  in 
tightly-fitting    striped    clothes,    was    bare-headed    and 
barefoot;    his    left    hand    rested    upon    the   projecting 
pole  of  the  waggon,   and   in   the  other  he  flourished 
a  long  whip,   which    he   smacked   bravely,   describing 
varied  figures  with  it  in  mid-air.     Behind  him  walked 
the  ponderous  oxen.      They  are  so  notably  big  and 
clumsy   that,    when  you    see    them    halting   before  an 
inn  where  the  driver  has  some  business,  you  examine 
them  intently  to  see  whether  there  is  any  visible  move- 
ment in  their  massive  bodies.     Their  eyes  cannot  be 


21 


f 

T 

I 


seen ;  they  He  hidden  beneath  a  rough  tangle  of  hair, 
which  hangs  down  from  their  foreheads  and  is  pierced 
by  two  great  fierce,  twisted  horns.  From  their  wide 
nostrils  ascends  a  hot  and  visible  breath.  The  broad, 
heavy  rump  rests  upon  short  legs  and  wade  hoofs ;  and 
the  stone-coloured  immobility  of  the  whole  reminds 
you  of  the  beast-gods  of  Egypt. 

Now,  however,  this  mass  moved  cautiously,  step 
by  step,  behind  its  whip-smacking  driver;  and  the 
heavily-laden  waggon,  with  its  quivering  laths  and  great 
overhanging  branches  of  trees,  imparted  to  it  a  length 
of  proportion  and  beauty  of  movement  which  made  me, 
after  it  had  passed,  continue  to  follow  it  with  my  gaze  as 
an  image  of  Spain  herself— slow,  proud,  and  stately. 

Meanwhile    it    was    time   to   break    our   fast,    and 

we  went  downstairs   to   the   dining-room,   which    had 

"  Comedor'    painted    in   big  letters  on    the  door.      A 

large  room,  panelled  in  dark  oak,  with  all  the  shutters 

closed   against   the   universal   enemy,  the  sun.       We 

carefully  opened  one  or  two  of  these  to  examine  our 

table,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen   on  it.     In  a 

few  minutes  the  door  opened,  and  two  girls  of  almost 

the  same  height,  sisters  perhaps,  entered,  bowed,  and 

with   a   pleasant    smile   wished    us:    ''Buenos   diasf' 

On   the    flat    palms   of  their   outstretched  hands    they 

carried  a    little   tray  for  each  of  our  party,  set  these 

down    upon    the   bare    but    brilliantly   polished    table, 

and  after  giving  us  a  glance  from  their  dark  pupils, 

as  if  to  ask  whether  there  were  anything  more  that 

we  required,   they  left   the    room  as  proudly  as    they 

had  entered  it.     We  looked  at  each  other  in  triumph, 

as  though  we  had  discovered  America. 

*'We    are    there    at   last,"    cried    Erens ;    "this 


is 


4^_£: 


22 


FIRST    DAYS    IN    SPAIN 


Spain.  Ha\e  you  ever  seen  such  brilliant  black  hair, 
so  finely  dressed,  with  those  flowers  atop?  and  what 
wonderful  black  eyes,  eh  ?  and  that  charming  costume 
made  of  nothing  at  all." 

To  my  eyes  those  girls  with  their  manners  so  full 


of  style,  their  comely  movements  and  light  dresses, 
looked  like  two  of  Flaxman's  figures  imbued  with 
colour  and  life.  But  we  began  to  grow  curious  to 
know  what  manner  of  food  our  goddesses  had  set 
before  us;  we  e.xamined  it  like  little  dogs  sniffing  at 
their  dinner,  for  we  had  no  notion  of  what  it  con- 
sisted.    It  looked  dainty  and  picturesque,  but  it  needed 


.■V    I 

I 


FIRST    DAYS    IN    SPALNT  23 

inspection  and  cataloguing.  First  we  each  carefully 
drew  forward  a  cup  of  chocolate,  not  very  large,  but 
deliciously  fragrant.  Next  came  a  large  glass  of  water, 
clear  as  crystal,  and  containing  something  that  looked 
like  a  folded  lace  handkerchief.  ''In  the  water!"  we 
laughed;  but  we  soon  saw  that  it  was  an  azucarillo, 
a  very  thin,  transparent,  sweet  wafer,  that  stuck  out 
high  above  the  water,  stood  upright  for  a  while,  but 
was  at  last  dissolved  in  the  crystal  fluid.  And,  as  I 
live,  there  was  also  a  little  piece  of  bread  for  each  of 
us,  rather  small,  rather  hard,  but  that  was  doubtless 
correct;  and,  on  a  very  tiny  dish,  a  little  piece  of 
butter,  which  here  bears  the  pastoral  name  of  mantcca 
de  la  vaca.  And,  finally,  beneath  all  this  lay  a  dear 
little  napkin,  not  intended  to  be  laid  on  the  table,  or 
even  on  the  lap,  but  to  be  pressed  from  time  to  time, 
folded  as  it  was,  to  the  lips,  when  one  felt  the  need 
for  it.  It  seemed  to  us  a  real  doll's  breakfast;  and 
yet  when  we  had  consumed  and  enjoyed  it  all,  we 
felt  both  fortified  and  refreshed. 

We  were  now  quite  ready  to  start  on  our  first 
Spanish  walk,  but  when  my  son  had  reached  the 
threshold  he  could  not  move  a  step.  With  eager  eyes 
he  stared  at  a  placard  posted  upon  the  wall  of  our 
hotel.  He  called  to  us,  and  we  saw  a  great  poster 
printed  in  red,  black,  and  yellow  letters,  interspersed 
with  pictures  of  many  bulls;  the  border  consisted  of 
dancing  girls,  carrying  great  fans,  and  executing 
curious  steps.     Above  all  we  read  : 

''PLAZA  DE  TOROS:  FIESTAS  DEL  DOMINGOr 

Picture  the  joy  of  our  triumvirate  at  dropping 
straight  into  a  bull-fight ;  but  we  did  not  feel  sure  of 


24 


FIRST    DAYS    JN    SPAIN 


our  ground,  and  the  patroiio  was  sent  for  to  tell  us 
what  we  were  to  do  to  attend  this  performance.  We 
heard  the  good  fat  man  come  shuffling  along  in  the 
distance;  but  when  he  heard  what  we  wanted,  all  the 
thick  folds  of  his  brown  face  creased  into  laughter 
his  eyes  were  squeezed  out  of  sight,  and  his  broad 
mouth  displayed  all  its  vacancies  and  shortcomings. 

"  Bendito  me  I"  he  exclaimed,  laughing  at  our 
eager  questioning.  "  It's  only  a  Sunday  diversion  • 
youth  will  tease  and  dance.  5/,  si,  scTiores :  go  by  all 
means;  no  harm  will  happen  to  man  or  beast;  the 
girls  and  the  bulls  are  all  novillos,  and  if  the  little 
old  gentleman  "—here  he  laughed  and  pinched  my  arm 
— "  does  not  become  too  lively,  the  scnorcs  can  ven- 
ture upon  a  dance  with  the  little  ladies  of  Viscaya." 

We  did    not  understand  a  word  of  it  I     A  dance 
and  bull-fight  combined!      In  any  case,  thought  we 
the  less  we  understand  the  earlier  we  ought  to  go. 

The  piaza  dc  toros  was  soon  found.  The  arena 
was  a  stone  circus,  with  no  attempt  at  luxury  the 
first  thing  that  struck  us  was  the  delightful  piece  of 
blue  sky  encircled  by  the  great  round  line  of  the 
roofless  building.  The  performance  had  not  yet  com- 
menced, and  the  vast  space  was  filled  with  youn^ 
scamps  playing  at  bull  and  bull-fighters.  They  climbed 
and  clambered  over  the  enclosure  in  every  direction 
jostled  and  chased  each  other,  and  raised  loud  cries 
and  clouds  of  dust. 

Suddenly  a  trumpet   uttered  a  hideous   blare,  and 

the  little  bull  rushed  into  the  arena.     The  frightened 

lads  fled,  and  only  a  few  remained  in  the  circle  youn^ 

Picadores,   bandcnlleros   and    cspadas,   and    amateurs 

ot    all    kinds.      For  a   moment   we   held   our   breath 


II' 


FIRST    DAYS    IN    SPAIN  25 

Although  we  knew  that  there  was  no  danger,  this 
leap  into  the  midst  of  the  romping  boys  gave' us  a 
thrill  ;  but  all  went  well.  Now  it  grew  delightful  to 
watch  the  young  bull  trotting  to  and  fro,  threatening, 
shaking  his  head  at  the  red  flags  and  other  objects' 
held  before  his  eyes,  and  to  see  the  bull-fighters  spring- 
ing and  gliding  around  him,  avoiding  his  dangerous 
horns,  Avhich  were  already  of  formidable   dimensions. 


,^  ..  ,.4^.*.S2^«^*«:' 


It  was  droll  to  see  the  bull  rushing  at  a  young 
fellow  whom  he  felt  certain  of  transpiercing,  and 
who  suddenly  vanished  from  his  sight  by  leaping 
nimbly  over  the  nearest  fence.  For  us  three  from 
the  North  it  was  strange  and  entertaining  :  the 
clear  blue  sky,  the  great  slice  of  sunshine,  and  the 
delightful  piece  of  shade  where  we  sat;  the  merry 
brown  faces  of  men  and  women,  who  threw  each 
other  oranges,  fans,  and  cigars.  All  was  light,  noise 
and  gaiety. 


in 


26 


FIRST    DAYS    IN    SPAIN 


But  now  bright  dance-music  sounded  from  above, 
a   sign    that   the   bull    had    been    driven    back    to   his 
stable,  and  that  the  dancing  was  commencing.     Fol- 
lowing the  crowd,  we  quickly  made  our  way  through 
the  labyrinth  of  this  Spanish  building,  until  we  came 
to   another  great   roofless  space,   arranged   as  a  ball- 
and   refreshment-room,  where,  as  we  say   in   Holland, 
a   blind   horse   could    do  no  damage.     But  the  living 
furniture  which  decorated  this  bare  space  was  young 
and  active;    boys  and  girls,  the  latter  carrying  fans, 
with    nosegays   in    their    hair,   or   a   single   rose   upon 
their  breast.     They  were  dressed  in  light  silk  frocks, 
of  colours  which  wc,  at  home,  would  call  showy,  but 
which,  in  this   land    of  glaring  sunshine,   harmonized 
with  all  the  rest,  with   the  glancing,   black,  carefully- 
dressed  hair,  with  the  black,  deep-set  eyes.     And  they 
danced,  they  danced,  as  though  putting  sentiment  into 
it;    now  with  their  heads  on    one   side,   now  on    the 
other,  casting  their  eyes  up,  casting  them  down,  with 
a  laugh  which   roused    admiration    for  their  beautiful 
teeth  and  displayed  the  passion  lurking  in  their  maiden 
bosoms.     But  the  boys,  no !     With  cigarette  in  mouth, 
the    little   hat  worn   upon  one   ear,   it  was  as   though 
they  were  quite  indifferent  at  encircling  the  girls'  waists 
and  twirling  round  with    them.     From   time    to  time 
they  cracked    out  the  measure  of  the  music  between 
their   thumb   and    forefinger,    and    stamped    upon    the 
floor  till  it  groaned.     A  moment's   interval  ;  the  girls 
ranged  themselves  along  the  bench  that  lined  the  wall, 
and  their  cavaliers  came  up  with  refreshments.     They 
drank    limpid   water   out   of   tumblers,    together   with 
very   small   glasses   of   anisette,    combining   freshness 
and  warmth  ;  and  we  ourselves  thought  nothing  more 


1 


FIRST    DAYS    IN    SPAIN 


27 


pleasant    than    this    form    of    refreshment,    which    is 
general  throughout  Spain. 

They  danced  for  an  hour  or  so;  then  the  bugle 
gave  the  signal  for  the  fight  again,  to  be  once  more 
replaced  by  the  dancing.  And  in  this  way  the  youth- 
ful population  of  San  Sebastian  kept  its  Sunday, 
alternating  the  dangers  of  the  bull-fight  with  the  yet 
greater  perils  of  the  ball-room. 


'^fi 


\ 


\ 


'fv. 


^'Z-'if-.W- 


BURGOS 

W  E  did  not  want  to  go  straight  to  the  centre  of 
Spain  and  to  the  great  city  of  Madrid.  We  wished 
first  to  breathe  more  Spanish  air,  to  tread  more 
Spanish  ground  ;  and  the  old  town  of  Burgos  lay  upon 

the  road.     We  left  pleasant  San  Sebastian  after  a  few 

28 


BURGOS 


29 


days'  stay,  and  armed,  like  real  Spanish  travellers, 
with  long  walking-sticks,  clad  in  easy  travelling-suits, 
we  drove  off  to  our  place  of  destination. 

A  few  hours'  journey  brought  us  to  a  region  very 
different  from  that  which  we  had  left  behind  us.  The 
air  was  chilly,  the  wind  harsh  ;  on  every  side  lay  a 
landscape  of  stony  hills  and  steep  precipices,  with 
here  and  there  deep  caverns,  which  were  pressed  like 
great  dark  eyes  into  the  grey  rock.  The  hard,  sharp 
lines  of  the  mountains  stood  out  against  the  grey  sky 
like  ruined  castles  and  towers  ;  sometimes  like  the 
backs  of  monstrous  beasts.  Where  the  line  swept 
downwards,  other  mountains  raised  their  peaks  far 
beyond  in  the  distance,  and  others  again  behind  those ; 
beneath  the  long  grey  layers  of  clouds,  the  barren 
landscape  displayed  wild  and  inhospitable  extents  :  a 
back-ground  for  a  demonic  tragedy. 

At  last  the  heavy  masses  of  rock  are  pierced  by 
tunnels,  another  and  yet  another,  and  then  we  obtain 
a  view  over  the  classic  Ebro.  After  this  long  journey 
the  aspect  changes ;  great  and  splendid  trees  line  the 
river,  which  flows  curving  through  a  green  landscape. 
As  we  pass  through  the  little  towns  of  Miranda  and 
Pancorbo  we  enjoy  a  strangely  beautiful  panorama, 
until  again  we  reach  the  barren  moors  amid  which 
Burgos  is  placed. 

A  great  disillusionment  awaits  the  stranger  enter- 
ing one  of  these  old  Spanish  towns.  Everything  is 
tumbled  and  confused.  The  station,  the  officials,  the 
population ;  all  seem  ragged  and  slovenly ;  and  in  each 
town  you  have  the  satisfaction  of  being  visited  by  the 
customs  anew. 

A  low-roofed  and  oscillating  vehicle  was  pointed 


30 


BURGOS 


out  to  us  by  a  beg-gar  as  the  omnibus  belonging  to 
our  hotel.      It  was  evening,  and  we   saw  little  of  the 
almost    unlighted    town.       At    last    we   crossed    some 
bridges,    drove    down    a    street,    and    stopped.       Wq 
stepped  out  and   looked  out   for  the  hotel.     We    had 
already  learnt  that  the  guest  at  a  Spanish  fonda  is 
received  in  a  strange  and  unceremonious  manner;  but 
this  surpassed  our  worst  expectations.    A  small  lantern 
burnt  within  a  large  stable-door:  this  was  the  entrance 
to  the  best  hotel  at  Burgos.     Upon  the  ground-floor 
a  smell  of  stables  greeted   us   in   every  direction.     A 
wide  winding-stair  of  rough  wood,  which  creaked  be- 
neath our  feet,  brought  us  to  the  hotel  proper,  which 
was  built  in  a  circular  form  above  the  stables.     Here 
were  our  rooms  :  they  w^ere  furnished  with  excessive 
plainness,  but  were  spacious,  and  had  large  windows 
overlooking  the  street.      Although  we  had    not  seen 
the  landlord,  head-waiter  or  any  one  in  office,  w^e  soon 
felt  at  home,  once   more  through  the  obligingness  of 
the  chambermaids,  who  made  every  endeavour  to  elicit 
from  us  what  we  needed,  and  who  amused  us  greatly 
by  their  free  and  merry  bewilderment  at  our  ways  and 
language.       Very    much    pleasanter   than    in    the    big 
European    hotels,    where   a    flood    of  servants    rushes 
down  upon  you  at  your  arrival,  as  though  you  were 
the  king  himself,  only  to  leave  you  utterly  to  yourself 
so  soon  as  you  are  safely  landed  at  the  numbered  door 
of  your  room.     Here  you  have  no  number  :  you  become 
the  child  of  the  house  at  once  ;  they  come  into  your  room 
without  knocking.     We  arranged  everything  with  the 
girls  :  what  we  should  have  to  eat,  what  we  required, 
and  I  do  not  remember  ever  being  put  so  thoroughly  at 
my  ease  in  a  couple  of  hours  as  in  this  horsy  hotel. 


BURGOS 


31 


But  suddenly  a  misfortune  struck  us,  the  worst 
that  can  befall  a  traveller:  Erens  fell  ill.  Already 
in  the  rocking  omnibus  he  had  felt  unwell ;  he  had 
been  silent  and  peevish.  During  our  installation  at 
the  hotel  he  had  made  an  effort ;  but  now  that  every- 
thing was  in  order,  he  collapsed  and  had  to  be  put  to 
bed  at  once.  Sore  throat,  headache,  fever,  and  general 
exhaustion. 

Marietta,  the  elder  of  the  seTioritas,  came  in  and 
perceived  our  distress. 

"  Pobrc  sefiorj'  she  said,  bending  over  the  sick  man, 
**may  I  give  you  a  piece  of  advice?  I  have  an  old 
aunt  who  has  all  sorts  of  ailments,  and  when  they 
become  very  bad  she  takes  a  sovereign  remedy.  I  w^ill 
prepare  it  for  you.  She  takes  a  good  bottle  of  Val  de 
Penas,  adds  a  handful  of  Spanish  pepper,  boils  it  all 
up  into  a  delicious  drink,  and  the  next  day  she  feels 
better  than  she  ever  did  in  her  life." 

The  sufferer  and  we  others  had  for  the  moment  no 
resource  but  to  accept  her  suggestion  ;  and  the  three 
of  us  drank  her  strong  brew  until  we  were  in  such  a 
sleepy  condition  that  my  son  and  I  also  made  our  way 
to  bed.  I  slept  soundly,  but  was  suddenly  aroused 
by  a  prolonged  flourish  of  trumpets,  which  sounded 
delightfully  through  the  air.  We  were  housed  just 
opposite  a  cavalry  barracks ;  I  looked  out  and  saw  ten 
troopers  blowing  the  reveille  in  the  fresh  morning-air. 
I  left  my  room  on  tiptoe,  and  when  I  came  to  our 
sick  friend's  apartment,  found  my  son  standing  by  his 
bedside. 

Erens  was  worse,  and  complained  of  how  the 
strong  wine  and  Spanish  pepper  had  tortured  his 
aching  head  and  limbs.     A  doctor  must  be  sent  for, 


n 


32 


BURGOS 


quickly,  at  once.  Fortunately  the  man  came  round 
without  delay.  It  was  not  the  Spanish  /Esculapius 
of  the  Barbierc,  in  a  long  mantle  and  shovel  hat. 
Simply  and  without  ceremony  he  went  up  to  the 
patient,  looked  at  him,  sounded  him  all  over.  He 
explained  that  he  talked  nothing  but  Spanish,  not 
even  Latin  ;  and  when  he  saw  that  the  mysteries  of  the 
Spanish  pharmacopaeia  were  Greek  to  us,  he  went  away 
saying,  ''Lwipiaditra,  Iwipiadura!'  We  knew  that 
this  meant,  **  I  must  clean  him  out,"  but  had  no  idea 
what  he  would  do  next.  Presently,  however,  he  re- 
turned with  two  bottles,  one  big  and  dark,  the  other 
small  and  light.  He  told  us  very  slowly  and  clearly 
how  we  were  to  administer  these  remedies  to  the 
sufferer,  and  departed  after  assuring  us  of  his  speedy 
return  and  of  his  care  for  our  patient's  condition.  Oh, 
dearest  and  best  of  doctors,  how  well  you  treated  us  ! 
In  three  days  our  man  was  as  sound  as  a  chicken, 
and  the  doctor's  bill  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Only, 
among  our  hotel  expenses  we  found  an  item  of  twenty- 
five  francs  paid  to  Senor  Salva.  That  was  the  medico's 
fee  for  his  constant  attention  and  pains  during  three 
days. 

Once  more  we  walked  well  and  strong  through  the 
streets  of  Burgos.  The  great  flood  of  sunshine,  the 
very  great  flood  of  sunshine,  was  what  struck  us  most 
when  we  issued  from  the  dark  stable-portals  of  our 
fonda.  Up  with  the  sunshades,  out  with  the  blue 
spectacles,  down  with  our  hats  over  our  eyes.  What 
sunshine,  what  light !  When  we  had  walked  for  half- 
an-hour  it  became  better,  and  we  gradually  grew 
accustomed  to  the  light  and  shadow  and  the  brightness 
on   every  side.      The  great   market,  where  everything 


BURGOS 


IZ 


was  offered  for  sale,  glittered  with  sunlight,  which 
made  each  object  glance  and  gleam;  then  through  a 
little  dark-shadowed  street  to  the  eminence  from  which 
you  see  the  road  leading  to  the  chief  glory  of  Burgos, 
the  great,  all-belittling  Cathedral;  for  in  reality  the 
whole  of  Burgos  is  only  built  as  a  setting  to  this 
wondrous  edifice,  erected  at  a  time  when  humanity 
counted  for  nothing,  and  the  church  for  every- 
thing. 

If  you  go  from  the  Plaza  Mayor,  the  great  market- 
place, straight  through  streets  and  lanes  to  the  Cathe- 
dral, you  see  nothing  of  the  stately  building,  surrounded 
as  it  is  by  small  houses  and  low  walls.     We  therefore 
went,  as  our  doctor  had  advised  us,  along  a  back  street, 
until  we   reached  a  sandy  eminence.      Here   the  sun 
burned  so  brightly  that  there  was  neither  man  nor  beast 
in  sight :  but  the  proud  edifice  stood  right  before  us. 
It  was  wonderful   to  see   how  paltry  the  surrounding 
city  looked,  and   how  the   tall   and    richly-ornamented 
towers   of  the   Cathedral   rose  up   into  the  air.     We 
descended  the  rough  hill-side,  and  entered  through  the 
principal  door.     Here  all  was  in  shade,  as  opposed  to 
the  sun  outside ;  all  was  cool,  as  opposed  to  the  heat 
on    the    mount;    all    was    dignified    and    splendid,    as 
against  the  bareness  and  poverty  we  had  just  seen. 
The  tall  and   solemn  pillars  stood  side  by  side,  sup- 
porting the  glorious  vault,  which  was  full  of  delightful 
lines   and    ornaments.      You    do   not    know   what    to 
admire   first;  the  impression   is  one  of  overwhelming 
brilliancy.      In   the  days  when   churches  as  this  were 
built,    they    were    the    places    where    everything   was 
collected  :  the  church  was  the  museum,  the  archives, 
the   place    for   monuments    and    memorials    to   saints 


E 


34 
and 


BURGOS 


princes   long    since   dead.      Alas!    who    now    is 
interested   in  these  vanished  and   mostly  insignificant 

grandeurs  ? 

We  halted  at  one  of  the  most  beautiful  chapels. 
Here  stood  a  young  monk,  with  a  head  shaven  save 
for  a  fringe  of  jet-black  hair,  who  had  at  once  marked 
us  as  strangers.  He  was  barefooted  and  wore  a 
thick  brown  gown,  which  left  his  broad  neck  bare; 
his  eyes  were  black  and  deep-set.  He  saluted  us  and 
pointed  to  a  bunch  of  keys  hanging  from  his  girdle, 
to  show  that  he  could  admit  us  to  all  the  reliquaries, 
open  the  gates  of  the  private  oratories,  and  lead  the 
way  through  this,  to  us,  labyrinthine  splendour.  He 
showed  us  everything :  the  historic  tombs  beneath 
our  feet  and  the  curious  statues  high  above  our  heads  ; 
he  unlocked  the  gilt  gates  surrounding  marble  monu- 
ments ;  he  opened  chapels  where  mass  was  said  on 
rare  occasions  alone.  He  drew  aside  the  curtains 
that  hung  before  glorious  pictures,  and  lit  tapers  in 
odd  corners  to  display  to  us  the  marvels  of  decoration. 
We  thus  wandered  with  our  spiritual  director  from 
one  side  of  the  church  to  the  other,  climbed  up  into 
the  admirably  sculptured  choir,  and  down  the  steps 
leading  to  a  gloomy  vault.  We  asked  him  whether 
this  office  was  not  a  little  monotonous  for  him  at  his 
age  ;  but  he  assured  us  emphatically  that  he  valued 
above  all  things  the  right  to  live  and  die  amid  those 
pious  surroundings.  He  had  the  sacred  conviction — 
and  we  felt  that  he  was  sincere — that  there  was  no 
peace  for  those  who  w^ere  not  good  Catholics,  and 
that  we  can  only  be  reconciled  to  our  earthly  existence 
by  devotion  to  Catholic  belief.  We  allowed  the  man 
to   make    his  confession    of  faith   in   peace  :  why  vex 


BURGOS 


35 


him  with  questions?     We  each  handed  him  a  peseta, 
and  he  thanked  us  kindly. 

The  sun,  the  great  broad  daylight,  brought  us  back 
to  our  every-day  travellers'  mood.  We  laughed  and 
romped  when  we  felt  the  cobble-stones  of  Burgos 
beneath  our  feet  again,  and  we  helped  a  donkey-driver 
to  drive  his  beasts,  whipping  and  shouting,  through 
the  narrow,  winding  streets.  We  went  up  the  Espelon, 
a  delightful  walk,  admired  the  exotic  plants  growing 
by  the  roadside,  and  amused  ourselves  by  watching 
the  brown-skinned,  gaily-dressed  nurse-maids,  who  walk 
up  and  dow^n  chattering,  accompanied  by  their  many 
charges.  We  went  into  cafes,  which  were  already 
crammed  at  the  early  hour  of  noon,  and  watched  the 
crowd  of  people  playing  cards  and  dominoes  amid  a 
choking  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke. 

A  foot-path  paved  with  cobbles,  all  slippery  with 
weeds  and  moss,  was  our  road  to  an  adjacent  and 
famous  monastery  We  knew  nothing  pleasanter  than 
to  wander  about  in  this  strange  land  without  a  guide ; 
and  as  there  was  no  house  or  hovel  of  any  kind  to 
block  the  view,  we  were  able  to  see  the  old  building 
far  in  the  distance. 

Through  a  somewhat  ruined  gate  we  entered  a 
walled  court-yard.  Within  the  walls  was  a  great 
neglected  space,  overgrown  with  tall  weeds,  with  an 
irregular  ground. covered  with  stones  and  bushes.  In 
front  of  us  was  a  large  building,  the  entrance  to  which 
was  closed  by  a  tall  and  handsomely-carved  door. 
Here,  on  the  marble  step,  sat  a  wretched  object  of 
picturesque  misery.  From  a  heap  of  rags  and  tatters 
appeared  a  finely-chiselled  woman's  head,  surrounded 
by  heavy  black  tresses ;  in  her  brow^n  arms  she  held  a 


36 


BURGOS 


BURGOS 


37 


pale  and  emaciated  baby,  which  she  pressed  to  her 
bared  breast.  She  sat  motionless,  as  though  she  were 
dreaming  and  had  not  perceived  us ;  but  when  we 
approached,  she  stood  up,  lifted  the  great  door-knocker, 
and  sank  down  again  in  her  seat,  awaiting  the  cen- 
times which  she  looks  to  receiving  for  this  service 
shown  to  visitors  to  the  monastery. 

We  had  not  much  time  in  which  to  study  the  dark 
brown  tints  and  naked  poverty  of  this  Spanish  beggar- 
woman,  for  upon  the  threshold  appeared  the  tall  figure 
of  a  monk  dressed  in  a  white  cloth  gown,  with  a 
shaven  head  and  bare  feet.  We  asked  if  we  had  leave 
to  enter.  No  reply  came.  Bowing  his  clean-shaven 
head  to  the  ground,  he  pointed  indoors,  and  gave  us 
the  signal  to  enter.  The  door  was  locked  behind  us, 
and  all  was  still,  still  as  the  grave. 

The  first  place  we  entered  was  a  large  oratory, 
and  a  figure  in  every  way  resembling  that  of  the  man 
who  had  admitted  us  lay  upon  the  ground,  with  his 
face  upon  the  first  step  of  the  altar.  He  made  no 
movement  ;  he  seemed  sunk  in  adoration,  and  did 
not  apparently  perceive  that  anything  in  the  world 
was  stirring  about  him.  By  his  side  sat  another  white 
figure,  which  appeared  to  be  reading  and  praying  from 
a  book.  We  asked  him  if  he  could  show  us  over  the 
monastery,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  lips.  He 
too  bowed  his  clean-shaven  head  to  the  ground,  and 
with  a  meaning  gesture  pressed  his  index  finger  to 
his  mouth  ;  we  then  understood  that  we  had  entered 
a  monastery  in  which  the  human  voice  may  not  be 
heard,  in  which  even  prayers  must  be  muttered  almost 
silently.  Nothing  is  allowed  to  divert  the  attention  of 
those  who  have  withdrawn   from   the  world   into   this 


chilly  tomb.  We  stole  almost  soundlessly,  upon  tip- 
toe, through  the  monastery,  the  garden,  enriched  with 
a  w^ell  surrounded  by  a  handsome  wrought-iron  railing, 
and  the  cloisters.     Here  and  there  sat  a  white  figure 


with  a  book,  in  a  careful  and  submissive  attitude ; 
others  knelt  in  positions  of  silent  meditation,  or  with 
arms  wide-stretched,  or  embracing  a  marble  image 
betw^een  their  folded  hands.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  ; 
nothing  broke  the  silence  save  the  swing  of  the  pen- 


liS 


38 


BURGOS 


dulum  of  a  great  clock,  whose  vibration  sounded 
through  the  stillness  and  drew  attention  to  itself  as 
the  only  audible  object,  announcing,  amid  its  dumb 
surroundings,  the  passage  of  time  into  eternity.  At 
the  entrance-door  stood  a  great  alms-box,  and  we 
willingly  offered  our  contribution  to  the  support  of 
these  men  deprived  of  their  share  of  the  joy  of  life. 
The  next  day  we  left  for  Madrid. 


w^.*^ 


^*>. 


*  *%* 


MADRID 


Madrid  is  a  charmingly  bright  and  spacious 
capital,  and  when  the  sun  shines,  or  the  moon  stands 
high  in  the  heavens,  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  stroll 
through  the  wide  streets,  full  of  shops,  cafds,  and 
sights   of  all    kinds.     Of  parks    laid    out  with  broad 


39 


40 


MADRID 


paths  and  rich  plantations  there  are  many.  Cabs, 
omnibuses  and  many  splendid  carriages  give  a  brisk 
and  joyous  movement  to  the  town. 

Madrid's  most  characteristic  hour  is  the  night-time. 
It  never  seems  to  sleep.  The  Puerta  del  Sol  is  full 
of  people  walking  and  arguing  until  two  or  three 
in  the  morning.  Newspapers,  refreshments,  lottery- 
tickets,  ballads  are  hawked  for  sale  with  loud  voices, 
and  none  seems  to  retire  to  rest  till  the  morning-star 
rises  in  the  firmament. 

Our  first  morning  in  Madrid  found  all  three  of  us 
quite  early  in  the  breakfast-room,  without  prearrange- 
ment ;  we  almost  grudged  the  time  necessary  to  take 
our  breakfasts.      The  mighty  figure  of  Velasquez   de 
Silva,  which  was  to  be  displayed  to  us  in  the  Museo 
del    Prado,    had    roused    us    early   from    sleep.       Wq 
dashed  through  the  streets  of  Madrid,  as  though  they 
contained  nothing  for  the  stranger  to  see  or  remark. 
Hot   and    tired,  we   arrived  before   the   big   building, 
where,   to  cool  our  appetite  for  Spanish  pictures,  we 
found  a  tall  attendant  in   livery,   who  pointed   to  the 
amtiuicio  on  the  wall,  from  which  we  learnt  not  to  be 
in  so  great  a  hurry  in  Madrid.     We  had  the  privilege 
of  waiting  an  hour,  a  whole  hour.     So  we  strolled  in 
the    surrounding   park;    for   this   museum    enjoys    the 
advantage   of  standing    amidst    charming   walks    and 
trees,  and  cool  benches  of  grey  stone  are  dotted    all 
around.     I  stretched  myself  at  length  on  one  of  these 
delightful  seats.     With  my  head  thrown  back,   I  saw^ 
that  the  sky  in  Madrid  is  almost  as  beautiful  as  at  the 
Hague;  I  saw  all  there  was  to  see,  and  dreamt  of  much 
more,  when  they  came  and  roused  me  from  my  strange 
attitude  and  reverie  :  the  doors  were  opened  ! 


I 


MADRID 


41 


We  ran    up   a   broad   and    lofty   marble   staircase, 
across  a  wnde  landing,  through  a  great  doorway,  and 
found    ourselves   in    the    place    of   our   desires.       The 
museum  at  Madrid  is  spacious,  pleasant,  and  homely. 
There  is  no  ostentatiousness  of  splendid  furniture  or 
display;  yet  it  is  proud  and  princely.     Everything  is 
easy  and  comfortable ;  there  are  no  iron  rails  to  keep 
you    at   a   distance;   you    can    stand   with   your   nose 
against   the   pictures    if  you   wish,   or   examine   them 
through  the  glass  if  you  are  so  disposed  ;  there  is  no 
maddening  varnish  ;  there  is  plenty  of  light,  admitted 
by  windows  which  are  wide,  but  not  too  wide.     The 
guardians  and  attendants  appeared  to  me  to  have  an 
instinct    regarding    the    nature   of   the  visitors  to   the 
museum.     They  were  going  round  with  a  little  troop 
of  peasants,  men  and  women,  who   had  come  sight- 
seeing, and  took  care  that  these  did  not  interfere  with 
the  other  people  who  were  examining  the  pictures  more 
closely.     They  were  always  able  to  distinguish  between 
the   artists   and    the   genuine    art-lovers  — critics   and 

persons  w^ho  took  an  interest  in  what  they  saw and 

the  ordinary  tourists  who  trotted  through  the  rooms 
with  their  check  suits  and  red  guide-books.  When  they 
saw  that  I  returned  frequently  to  the  same  painting 
and  discussed  it  with  my  companions,  they  always 
brought  me  a  chair;  they  informed  me  where  my 
friends  were,  whenever  we  had  lost  each  other  in  the 
eagerness  of  our  inspection  ;  and  I  verily  believe  that, 
if  I  had  felt  at  all  faint  from  excess  of  walking  and 
looking,  they  would  have  brought  me  a  little  table  laid 
with  lunch. 

But  happily  there  was  no  question  of  feeling  faint ; 
the  excitement  was  much  too  great  for  that.     We  fell 


42 


MADRID 


like  gluttons  upon  the  first  small  room,  for  we  saw  a 
Velasquez  hanging  there,  and  to  go  straight  through 
to  the  big  room  which  really  commences  the  museum 
was  impossible :  how  could  we  pass  by  that  picture  of 
which  we  had  caught  sight  through  the  narrow  door- 
way of  the  small  room.  "  Look,"  we  said,  nudging 
each  other  with  our  elbows,  "  there  he  is !  "  A  deli- 
cious landscape  with  a  fine  blue  sky  traversed  with 
faint  stripes ;  across  it  rode  a  young  Spanish  prince,  in 
an  exquisite  dress,  upon  a  grand  little  brown,  lively 
horse.  I  thought  the  horse  the  finest,  my  son  the 
prince,  Erens  the  landscape.  We  laughed  with  joy, 
and  then  quickly  flew  out  of  the  small  room,  through 
the  big  door.  Look!  A  great  lofty,  spacious  room, 
with  Velasquez,  Murillos,  Titians,  Raphaels  hanging 
on  every  wall,  but  Velasquez  most  of  all. 

"This  way,"  said  my  son,  "over  there,  see,  there 
is  the  famous  Surrender  of  Breda." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "look  there,  there  is  that  splendid 
portrait  of  Olivarez  on  horseback,  and  another  next  to 
it,  and  another,  portraits  of  three  Court  jesters,  and  a 
great  interior  with  princesses  with  Velasquez  hair. 
What  a  splendid  dog  that  is  on  the  floor ;  how  well  he 
knew  how  to  paint  animals,  horses,  dogs,  monkeys,  as 
though  there  were  nothing  in  it ;  and  then  those  skies, 
and  that  simple  way  of  painting:  deuce  take  me,  but 
he  didn't  gain  his  reputation  for  nothing!  " 

But  one  of  the  attendants,  observing  our  noisy 
enthusiasm  for  Velasquez,  pointed  to  a  door  a  little 
further  on  and  leading  to  another  room.  It  was  im- 
possible for  us  to  enter  this  room  without  all  three, 
as  though  upon  the  word  of  command,  taking  off  our 
hats,  such  was  the  air  of  grandeur,  such  the  harmony 


MADRID 


43 


of  beauty  that  met  us  there.  We  grasped  the  attend- 
ant's meaning:  here  hung  three,  four,  five  of  the 
Spanish  artist's  finest  works.  In  the  middle  of  the 
room  was  the  Tapestry  Weavers,  and  opposite  that, 
the  Topers,  the  latter  strong  and  brown,  painted  hard, 
and  full  of  character;  the  other  soft,  refined,  sweet  and 
sympathetic.  In  the  Hilauderas,  or  Tapestry  Weavers, 
the  principal  figure  is  a  big,  handsome  woman,  with  a 
bare  neck,  fair  hair,  bare  arms ;  she  is  busy  doing  her 
work;  it  might  almost  be  a  life-size  Terburg,  with 
more  style,  it  is  true,  more  breadth,  but  the  colour  is 
there,  the  charm,  with  all  that  melting  sweetness,  that 
blonde  deliciousness.  But  see,  further  down  the  room 
a  life-size  fellow  stands  talking :  it  is  a  Court  jester ; 
he  has,  I  think,  a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and  he 
is  reciting.  Yes,  that's  what  he's  doing.  Just  look 
how  life-like  he  stands,  stretching  out  his  hand  to  illus- 
trate his  speech  with  his  gestures.  It  is  broad,  big, 
vivacious  :   I  had  never  seen  anything  like  it. 

Velasquez  is  the  painter  who  most  resembles  the 
painter  one  imagines  when  one  is  very  young.  A  large 
canvas,  broad  brushes  and  pencils ;  and  with  a  lusty 
hand  he  paints  a  man  on  a  horse,  life-size,  in  a  sump- 
tuous landscape,  with  a  blue  sky  and  fleecy  clouds. 
Clad  in  a  loose-fitting  suit  of  brown  velvet,  with  black 
mustachios  and  deep-set  eyes,  he  stands  with  expert 
hand  filling  his  great  canvas  with  life-size  figures.  He 
does  not  draw  learnedly,  or  precisely,  but  largely  and 
boldly ;  he  does  not  seek  or  worm  about,  does  not  hurl 
brushes  and  chairs  about  in  despair,  but  paints  earnestly 
and  deliberately.  Full  of  love  for  his  creations,  he  sits 
down  to  rest  for  a  moment  from  his  strenuous  work, 
and  carefully  studies  the  model  standing  before  him, 


44 


MADRID 


resting,  he  too,  from  his  pose  as  a  trumpeter.  Then 
the  painter  gets  up  again,  to  work  on  steadily  and 
peacefully,  standing  on  his  feet,  until  he  is  interrupted 
by  the  visit  of  some  courtiers,  perhaps  of  the  King 
himself,  who  delightedly  admire  his  work,  full-coloured, 
clear  and  distinct. 

Quel  peintre  et  que/  talent  I  And  we  stand  and 
try  to  realize  how  such  a  man  must  have  felt  in  such 
an  environment,  we  painters  without  daring,  without 
models,  without  Court,  King  or  Kaiser,  to  give  us  a 
sense  of  breadth.  A  little  picture  less  than  two  yards 
square  terrifies  us,  and  the  King  is  mightily  amused 
at  what  we  show  him  at  an  exhibition  of  livin^f  masters, 
and  we  creep  in  our  shells  and  are  painters  of  the 
doubting  age  and  of  joyless  actions. 

Reflection  had  ceased  with  us ;  at  that  moment  we 
refused  to  grant  that  every  age  produces  a  different 
art  and  different  artists,  and  that  each  utterance  of  art 
has  a  right  of  existence.  Ah,  we  could  not  help 
being  shocked,  yes,  shattered,  by  the  sight  of  so  many 
masterpieces.  We  longed  for  the  outside  air ;  we  had 
had  emotions  enough  ;  we  wanted  to  run,  romp,  drive. 
W^e  looked  at  no  more  pictures  that  day. 


f 


KERMESSE 

IN  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Madrid  lies  a  glorious 
plain,  which  forms  a  valley  between  Madrid  and  the 
neighbouring  hills.  Leaving  the  town,  you  descend 
gradually  along  the  picturesque,  tree-lined  road  ;  and 
when  you  reach  the  bottom,  you  find  yourself  sur- 
rounded and  hemmed  in  by  a  circle  of  richly-wooded 
grounds  and  hills.  Above  all  you  see,  from  out  the 
declivity,  the  whole  city  of  Madrid  rising  with  its 
tall  buildings  and  low,  its  steeples,  churches,  and 
palaces.  In  this  valley  they  kept  the  feast  of  Saint 
Isodore. 

45 


,4 


46 


KERMESS]^ 


It  was  really  a  country-fair  or  Kermesse :  a  long 
double  row  of  loosely-carpentered  booths,  whose  canvas 
coverings  flapped  lustily  in  the  wind.  There  were 
bazaars  where  wonderful  wares  were  offered  for  sale, 
working  figures  of  bull-fights,  dolls  that  danced  and 
played  the  drum,  mountains  and  landscapes  made  of 
sugar-stuff.  Then  there  were  booths  in  which  they 
cooked  and  baked,  spreading  an  odour  of  reeking 
viands.  Dogs  and  a  multitude  of  children  ran  eagerly 
sniffing  around.  But  the  principal  space  in  the  green 
plain  was  occupied  by  the  festive  dancers,  who  filliped 
their  thumbs  and  fingers  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  and 
stamped  their  feet  to  the  measure  of  a  tinkling  guitar 
or  tambourine. 

Before  we  could  reach  the  dancers,  we  were  en- 
countered by  a  group  of  gitanas,  or  screaming  gipsy- 
women.  Their  iron-grey  hair  streamed  from  their 
heads,  mingled  with  rags  of  every  description  ;  their 
skin  was  brown  and  hard  as  wood  ;  and  had  we  not 
known  better,  we  should  have  thought  that  they  meant 
to  swallow  us  up,  flesh  and  bones,  so  spiteful  was  their 
grin,  so  hungrily  did  they  stare  at  us  with  their  jet- 
black  eyes  and  thick  eye-brows,  and  stretch  out  to  us 
their  brown  and  sinewy  hands.  One  of  these  bewitch- 
ing dames  seized  me  by  the  hand,  and,  in  a  language 
of  which  I  understood  not  a  word,  with  great  gestures 
she  described  the  secrets  that  lay  hidden  in  the  lines 
of  my  hand.  Fortunately  we  soon  escaped  this  rough 
society  by  the  payment  of  some  small  coins,  and 
pushed  through  the  rows  of  bystanders  to  watch  a 
dancer  who,  on  that  splendid  green  carpet,  was  exe- 
cuting a  dance  which  charmed  me  more  than  any  I 
had  ever  seen. 


\ 


> 


KERMESSE 


47 


Clad    in   an    olive-green    silk    dress,   which    fell   in 
graceful  folds  around  her  slender  limbs,  wearing  a  light 
flowered  kerchief  about  her  bare  neck  and  bosom — the 
latter  was  adorned  with  a  red  rose — she  set  her  little 
satin-shod  feet  daintily  and  proudly  upon  the  ground. 
But  she  did  not  dance  with  her  feet  alone  ;  her  whole 
body,  her  head,  her  eyes  above  all,  danced  too.     Her 
partner   was   a   lad   of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  her  brother 
perhaps,  whom  she  seemed  to  employ  to  lend  help  and 
support  to  her  movements   as   she   danced   upon   the 
sward.     Sometimes  she  would  bow  low  as  she  embraced 
him  with  tender  passion,  and  then  again  she  raised  her 
little  head,  adorned  with  her  gleaming  hair,  on  high, 
as  though  calling  upon  Heaven  to  bear  witness  to  her 
exalted  sentiments.     I  may  have  stood  admiring  her  a 
little  obviously.     At  least  she  gave  me  a  mysterious 
glance  now  and  again  from  her  soft,  black  eyes,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  she  bent  her  head  towards  me, 
as  though  to  say,  "Come  and  join  me,  and  I  will  let 
this  boy  go  his  way."     O  vain  self-deception  of  an  old 
man !     Scarcely  had   I   made  this  observation,   when, 
with  a  graceful  swirl,  she  swung  round  to  the  other 
side  and   repeated   the  same  alluring  gestures  to  the 
people  opposite.    Clearly,  she  was  inspired  by  no  desire 
for  conquest  ;  she  danced   for  dancing's  sake,  and   to 
give  free  play  to  her  love  of  gesture  and   movement. 
In  the  north  we  should  regard  such  ways  as  signify- 
ing something  very  different ;  here  they  displayed  the 
nature  of  this  Spanish  girl,  who  felt  the  need  of  motion, 
of  graceful  poses,  and  nothing  more. 

"  Look  behind  you,"  said  my  son ;  and  when  I 
turned  round,  as  I  live,  I  thought  I  beheld  two  living 
statues  on  horseback,  two  pompous  figures  in  the  form 


^ 


48 


KERMESSE 


of  algtiagils,  policemen,  seated  upon  tall  horses.  Clad 
like  Napoleon  in  the  pictures  of  Waterloo,  with  the 
famous  cocked  hat  and  the  coat  with  upturned  lapels, 
white  breeches  and  jack-boots,  they  sat  straight  as 
candles  upon  their  grey  steeds,  and  overlooked  the 
crowd  of  humanity  as  it  were  a  sea  raging  about  them. 
The  movement  and  excitement  around  us  increased  ; 
fatigued,  we  sought  a  resting-place  beneath  a  canvas 
stretched  across  four  poles  and  sheltering  a  rustic 
table  and  a  long  bench.  Everything  about  us  sang, 
danced,  twanged  the  guitar ;  we  drank  a  glass  of 
Manzanilla,  and  imagined  that  we  were  taking  part 
in  the  general  riot  of  fun  and  frolic. 

It  began  to  grow  late.  Madrid  in  the  distance, 
with  its  houses  and  steeples,  was  now  but  a  dark 
mass,  sharply  defined  against  the  deep  blue  of  the 
summer  evening  sky,  through  which  floated  golden 
streaks  with  glowing  edges.  The  revelry  seemed  to 
be  but  just  commencing.  Here  and  there  gleamed 
little  lights  from  tents  and  booths ;  from  out  the  dark- 
ness incessantly  loomed  couples,  laughing  and  romp- 
ing. Thinking  that  we  had  worshipped  long  enough 
at  the  shrine  of  Saint  Isodore,  we  climbed  the  steep 
foot-path  to  the  city,  past  the  Prado  and  the  parks, 
and  safely  reached  owx  fan  da  in  the  more  than  lively 
Puerta  del  Sol. 


I 


THE    PRADO    RE-VISITED 

1  HE  next  morning  our  desire  for  the  Museo  del 
Prado  was  renewed.  We  wanted  to  see  fresh  master- 
pieces;  the  Prado  contains  a  wondrous  wealth  of 
beautiful  things.  No  sooner  had  we  entered  the  long 
room,  discussing  the  merits  of  the  robust  Ribera,  than 
a  young  man,  armed  with  palette  and  pencil,  climbed 
down  from  a  tall  ladder,  on  which  he  was  seated  copy- 
mg  one  of  the  pictures,  and  came  up  to  us. 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  but  I  could 
not  stay  up   there  when   I   heard  you  talking  Dutch 
May  I  introduce  myself  .>     I  had   heard  that  you  in- 
tended to  visit  Spain,  and   I  am  delighted  to  think 
I  may  be  of  some  service  to  you  here." 

It  was  Mr.  Govaerts,  a  talented  young  artist,  who 
had  won  the  prize  at  our  painting-academy  in  Amster- 
dam, and  was  now  travelling  in  Italy  and  Spain  at 
the  cost  of  the  Government.  I  could  not  but  remember 
how  eagerly  I  too,  in  my  youth,  had  longed  for  such 
a  prize ;  how  I  envied  the  blissful  fate  of  some  of  my 
French  friends  who,  young,  healthy,  full  of  hope  and 
courage,  were  enabled,  with  no  anxiety  regarding  their 
livelihood,  to  spend  five  years  in  a  Roman  villa  in 
glorious  sunny  Italy.  Yet  I  too  had  been  favoured 
by  fortune,  as  I  stood  here,  although  I  had  never 
won  an  academy  prize. 

49  n 


THE    PRADO    RE-VISITED 

We  were  on  the  point  of  entering-  another  room, 
when  once  again  a  heavy,  distinguished  figure  came 
up  to  me,  bowing  politely. 

"  Qiccl  bonhcur,  clicr  luaitye,  dc  vous  refronvcr  da  us 
inic  si  belle  eollectiou  I''  its  owner  cried.  It  was  a 
French  art-critic,  who  had  once  called  upon  me  at 
the  Hague,  and  who  had  proved  to  me  that  there  are 
some  art-critics  who  do  know  something  of  their 
subject,  who  do  not  pretend  to  know  more  than  the 
artists  themselves,  and  who  can  combine  erudition 
with  simple  susceptibility. 

''Eh  bieu  !''  said  my  French  friend.  "Was  I 
exaggerating  when  I  talked  to  you  about  the  glorious 
Velasquez  ?  " 

FIrens  pointed  out  that  it  was  the  fashion  lately 
to  place  Velasquez  above  Rembrandt. 

**That  is  true,"  I  replied,  ''I  have  heard  it  said; 
but  I  think  the  opinion  frivolous.  For,  although 
Velasquez  is  an  exceptional  painter,  so  is  Rembrandt, 
and  he  is  much  more  besides.  If  Rembrandt  had 
never  taken  a  brush  in  hand,  his  etchings  alone  w^ould 
have  placed  him  among  the  foremost  creative  artists. 
The  excellence  of  his  talent  as  a  painter  is  but  a  small 
portion  of  all  that  combines  to  form  the  enormous 
genius  of  this  jewel  with  its  many  facets,  his  imagina- 
tion, his  simplicity,  the  poetry  of  his  sombre,  mysterious 
effects,  the  depth  and  virtuosity  of  his  workmanship. 
Velasquez  never  painted  heads  like  the  Staalmeesfers, 
The  hair  lives,  the  eyes  look  at  you,  the  foreheads 
wrinkle  at  you.  This  is  my  first  visit  to  Madrid,  and 
I  rejoice  at  being  able  to  enjoy  this,  to  me,  new  talent 
of  Velasquez.  But  when  I  look  at  his  masterpiece, 
Las  Lanzas,  and  think  of  Rembrandt's  Night  Watch, 


THE    PRADO    RE-VISITED 


5 


I  continue  to  regard  the  Spanish  c/ief-cfcenvye  with 
the  greatest  appreciation  and  delight,  but  in  my 
thoughts  I  fall  back  before  the  Night  Watch  as  before 
a  miracle.  There  you  have  a  breadth  of  brush  that 
no  one  has  ever  equalled.  All  of  which  painting  is 
capable  is  united  in  that:  fidelity  to  nature  and 
phantasy,  the  loftiest  masterliness  of  execution,  and 
in  addition  a  sorcery  of  light  and  shadow  that  is  all 
his  own.  Rembrandt's  w^as  an  unique  mind,  in  which 
the  mystic  poetry  of  the  North  was  combined  with 
the  warmth  and  virtuosity  of  the  South.  Velasquez' 
work,  on  the  other  hand,  glows  calmly  and  peacefully 
from  these  glorious  walls.  He  works,  but  does  not 
contend ;  he  feels  gloriously,  but  wages  no  combat ; 
Rembrandt's  gloomy  silence  in  darkness,  his  striving 
after  the  infinite  and  the  inexplicable,  are  unknown 
to  him  ;  serene  and  sure  he  sits  enthroned  upon  the 
high  place  which  he  has  made  his,  but  Velasquez' 
art  embraces  only  his  own  surroundings,  whereas 
Rembrandt's  plays  its  part  in  every  human  life, 
and  in  addition  strives  after  the  historic  and  the 
unseen." 

xMy  Frenchman  took  from  his  wallet  an  exquisite 
box  filled  with  chocolate,  which  he  explained  that  he 
always  required  when  visiting  a  picture-gallery.  He 
begged  me  to  help  myself,  saying,  "  l^'o7ts  vous  etes 
dcliatiffd,  (;a  vous  fera  du  bien  ;^'  then  politely  leading 
me  forwards,  he  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  suddenly 
paused  before  a  portrait  of  a  cardinal,  painted  by  none 
less  than  Raphael.  Once  again  I  stood  open-mouthed 
and  rooted  to  the  spot ;  they  brought  me  a  chair,  and 
I  was  able  to  contemplate  this  modern  masterpiece  at 
my  ease.      I   call    it   a    modern    masterpiece,   for   this 


:  f 


52 


THE    PRADO    RE-VISITED 


portrait  must  give  every  one  the  impression  of  being- 
painted  for  all  time.  You  are  not  struck,  charmed,  and 
delighted  by  picturesqueness  or  artisticity,  but  by  the 
thoughtfulness,  the  soul,  the  innate  character  of  the 
man.  A  rare  soberness  of  light  and  colouring,  a 
triumphant  nobility  of  form.  It  is  a  tall  figure,  and 
a  face  eloquent  of  asceticism  and  acquiescence.  The 
eyes  are  deep-set  and  penetrating;  the  sallow  pallor  of 
the  hollow  cheek  reveal  the  man  of  the  cloister  and 
the  Church.  The  fine,  hooked  nose  betrays  a  proud 
Italian  descent ;  the  lips,  slightly  compressed,  a  reflec- 
tive and  gentle  character.  This  one  portrait  contains 
more  poetry  than  many  a  surrounding  display  of  saints 
and  angels. 

These  saints,  madonnas,  and  angels  are  here  in 
multitudes ;  the  titles  commencing  with  La  yirgeji  are 
innumerable.  If  the  portraying  upon  canvas  of  the 
historic  figures  of  Christendom  were  a  new  idea,  I 
believe  that,  in  a  museum  where,  among  other  master- 
pieces, hung  a  picture  representing  Mary,  prostrate  on 
the  ground,  casting  herself  with  tears  of  despair  into 
the  arms  of  the  women  her  companions,  with  behind 
the  group  the  Cross,  rising  on  high,  with  the  noble 
Son  looking  down,  with  bent  head,  upon  His  Mother— 
I  believe  that  the  emotion  produced  by  such  a  scene 
would  kill  every  surrounding  picture.  But  when  this 
beautiful  subject  is  repeated  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  times,  when  it  is  used,  so  to  speak,  as  a  sign-board 
of  religious  establishments,  when,  as  at  the  Prado,  you 
see  before  you  rooms  full  of  such  subjects,  painted 
more  or  less  well,  then  you  require  all  your  sense  of 
artistic  equity  to  continue  to  bestow  your  attention 
upon  them.    And  thus  we  wandered  by  a  great  number 


i    . 


THE    PRADO    RE-VISITED 


53 


of  valuable  pictures,  and  clearly  perceived  that  this  too 
contributed  to  promoting  the  great  victory  of  Velasquez 
in  this  museum,  for  his  religious  pictures  are  very 
much  in  the  minority  here.  We  again  and  yet  again 
saluted  the  master  of  these  fortunate  gifts,  and  through 
the  sunny  park  made  our  way  home. 


THE    BULL-FIGHT 

Un  the  square  of  the  Puerta  del  Sol  and  in  the  Calle 
del  Alcala  all  was  uproar.  Coachmen  shouted  and 
drove  past  one  another.  Omnibuses,  horsed  with 
mules,  were  each  moment  stormed  by  young  and  old. 
Anything  to  get  on.  All  hurried  and  hustled  to  reach 
the  Plaza  de  Toros,  at  the  end  of  the  Calle  del  Alcala, 
where  the  great  bull-fight  was  to  take  place  that 
Sunday.  The  passengers  were  chased  along  the  street 
by  newspaper-boys,  who  sold  coloured  prints  of  bulls 
and  bull-fighters.  A  heathenish  noise  reigned  through- 
out the  long  street  to  the  place  where  the  arena  stood. 

54 


/ 


THE    BULL-FIGHT  ^^ 

Here  all  was  bustle  and  confusion  ;  one  was  hunted 
from  one  entrance  to  the  other ;  and  here  too  the  big, 
motionless  alguazils  sat  surveying  the  swaying  crowd 
from  the  backs  of  their  tall  steeds.  Thousands  and 
thousands  of  pleasure-seekers  like  ourselves  stormed 
the  different  entrances  of  the  building.  At  last,  with 
much  pushing,  and  with  great  danger  to  hat's  and 
glasses,  we  made  our  way  in. 

Again  that  splendid  sight  of  the  great  round  curve, 
through  which,  from  out  of  the  pure  blue  sky,  the  sun 
casts  the  huge  line  of  shadow  which  envelops  half 
the  building.  All  was  crush,  merry  talk,  searching 
for  seats,  climbing  from  one  stage  to  the  other,  throw- 
ing of  oranges  from  the  arena  upwards,  of  coins  and 
paper  money  from  above.  All  with  the  indispensable 
cigarette  in  their  mouths,  heaps  of  Spaniards  stood 
discussing  the  programme  with  big  gestures,  and 
thousands  of  laughing,  gaily-dressed  seiiorifas  waved 
their  fans,  never  fast  enough  to  keep  off  the  heat.  At 
last  I  saw  that  something  special  had  taken  place. 
The  city  authorities  had  entered  their  box,  every  one 
flew  to  his  seat,  and  the  music  commenced. 

The  music  continued,  and  now  in  solemn  proces- 
sion came  the  participators  in  the  fight,  picturesquely 
dressed  in  embroidered  coats,  silk  knee-breeches,  silk 
stockings,  and  low  shoes.  Some  on  horseback,  armed 
with  lances;  others  with  red  cloaks  swinging  from 
their  shoulders  or  hanging  over  one  arm.  It  was  like 
a  bridal  party  in  brilliant  costume.  Each  struck  an 
attitude  before  the  Alcalde  of  the  city.  The  espada, 
the  leader  of  the  troop,  bowed  to  the  authorities  and 
to  the  shouting  multitude,  and  flung  his  velvet  hat 
high  in  the  air ;  then  the  signal  resounded,  a  strident 


56 


THE    BULL-FIGHT 


trumpet-blast,    and    the    first    bull    stormed    into    the 
arena. 

Nothing    but    a    bull-fight    can    give   you    such    a 
moment  of  sensation.     Vou  hold  your  breath,  struck 
by  the  aspect  of  the  fierce  monster  as  he  leaps  through 
the  opening.      He  holds  his  tremendous  head,  with  its 
horns,  ready,  but  is  at  first  confused  by  all  that  pre- 
sents itself  before   him   in   this   brilliant   space.       Im- 
patiently  he  stamps  his   hoofs.      Yonder  he  sees   an 
attainable  something:  it  is  a  man  waving  a  red  cloth  ; 
he  rushes  towards   it,  the  figure  flies  before  him,  he 
comes   up  with    it   and  dashes    his    head   against    the 
fragile  body;  no,  the  shock  only  touches  the  red  cloth, 
the  man  has  nimbly  sprung  aside.     But  another  pre- 
sents himself,  and  yet  another;  madly  he  rushes  first 
at  one,  then  at  the  other ;  but  he  only  reaches  the  red 
cloths,  and  all  bewildered   he  finds   himself  standing 
before  a  man  on  horseback.     This  is  the  picador.     A 
thrust  from  his  lance  enrages  the  bull  still  more  ;  the 
foam  pours  from  his  mouth  as  from  a  tap  ;  and  then, 
generally  with  a  single    movement,  he   throws    horse 
and    horseman    with    a    thud    to    the    ground.       The 
picador's  position  is  far  from  enviable ;  he  lies  beneath 
the  horse,  and  above  him  he  sees  the  glowing  eyes  of 
the  bull,  who  aims  his  horns  at  him  ;  but  the  surround- 
ing bull-fighters  now  press  about  the  beast,  and  try  to 
draw  him  away  from  his  prey  with  their  red  cloths,  a 
stratagem  which  nearly  always  succeeds,  although  the 
picador  generally  comes  out  of  this  encounter  limping 
and  wounded,  the  horse  covered  with  blood. 

The  bull  pants  and  roars,  looking  out  for  some- 
thing to  bore  with  his  horns  ;  see,  just  in  the  middle 
of  the  arena  stands  a  small  slight  figure,  charmingly 


THE    BULL-FIGHT  57 

dressed  in  satin.  It  lifts  its  two  arms  on  high,  and 
defies  the  bull  to  approach  ;  in  each  hand  it  holds  a 
long  stick  from  which  little  flags  wave  gaily  in  the 
wind  ;  the  sticks  are  furnished  with  treacherous  iron 
points.  The  bull  rushes  at  the  banderillero,  who  at 
that  moment  thrusts  the  points  of  the  little  flag-sticks 
m  his  neck,  and  the  bull  rushes  on,  a  flag  planted  in 
each  side  of  his  broad  neck.  A  deafening  applause, 
shoutmg,  throwing  of  hats  and  cigarettes  follows  on 
this  exploit ;  madly  the  bull  shakes  from  side  to  side, 
but  cannot  rid  himself  of  the  flags.  He  stands  still! 
panting  for  breath,  and  a  second,  perhaps  a  third,' 
banderillero  approaches.  But  now  it  is  sufficient ;  the 
decisive  moment  has  come. 

Bareheaded,   the  espada   draws    nigh;    in    his    left 
hand   he  carries  a  red    cloak,   in    his  right   a   sword. 
Cool  and  calm,  he  walks   up  to  the  raging  monster, 
who  suddenly  stands  still,  stares  long  at  his  assailant] 
frightened   at   the    man   who   dares   threaten    him   so 
calmly.     The  espada  comes  closer  and  closer  to  the 
bull,    stands    right   before   him,    and    strikes   him    re- 
peatedly over  the  head   with   his  red  cloak;  then   he 
takes  a  step  backwards,  in  order  to  aim,  with  the  point 
of  his  sword,   at  the  exact  spot  in  which  to  hit  the 
beast.     The   bull   on   his   side  too  awaits   the    precise 
moment,  and  just  when  his  tremendous  head  is  bent 
down  to  impale  the  intrepid  one  upon  its  horns,  the 
cspadds  sword   plunges  deep  into  his  neck.     All  the 
ten  thousand  spectators  spring  up,  stare,  shout,  push 
against  each  other;  one  yells,  another  whistles;  for  a 
moment  pandemonium  reigns.     But  see,  the  bull  gets 
up  again  ;  with  the  sword  in  his  back  he  trots  down 
the  arena,  all  the  cJmlos  and  the  espada  after  him,  to 

H 


58 


THE    BULL-FIGHT 


draw  out  the  sword  if  necessary.  But  at  last  the 
tremendous  one  falls  upon  his  knees ;  he  has  no 
longer  the  strength  to  lift  his  horned  head  ;  his  might 
is  gone,  and  the  glorious  beast,  who  but  now  rushed 
proudly  and  defiantly  into  the  arena,  lies  motionless 
on  the  ground. 

Now  he  is  dragged  out  by  four  mules  with  tinkling 
bells,  and  disappears  for  ever  from  the  scene.  Do  not 
think,  however,  that  his  adversaries  come  off  safe  and 
sound.  We  saw  several  picadores  carried  wounded 
and  maimed  from  the  arena  ;  and  later,  while  we  were 
at  Seville,  Espartero,  the  famous  espada  king,  fell, 
struck  dead  by  a  tremendous  blow  from  the  bull,  at 
the  moment  of  plunging  his  sword  for  the  second 
time  into  the  neck  of  his  redoubtable  adversary. 


t! 


I 


.  .^.  ■,0m^-St^-»*-' 


EL   ESCORIAL 

1  HE  ferro-carril  takes  you  slowly,  at  an  hour's  dis- 
tance from  Madrid,  to  a  lofty  plain  ;  then  again  crawls 
considerably  higher,  and  reaches  a  wild  and  rocky  spot, 
relieved  by  neither  tree  nor  shrub,  a  crowded  mass 
of  rocks,  assuming  all  kinds  of  strange  and  monstrous 
shapes.  In  this  inhospitable  region,  which  centuries 
ago  was  even  more  difficult  of  access  than  now,  in  this 
wilderness  of  sand  and  stone,  gloomy  King  Philip  H. 
erected  his  cloister-palace,  El  Escorial. 

When  w^e   left   the  train,   the  palace  stood   like  a 
tower  above  our  heads,  and  a  wretched  road,  steep  and 

59 


6o 


EL    ESCORIAL 


EL    ESCORIAL 


if  i 


I 


Ml 


11 


m 


almost  impassable,  led  upwards  to  it.  We  had  no 
choice  but  to  follow  the  example  of  some  peasants,  who 
lived  in  the  village  of  Escorial,  and  we  climbed  into  a 
waggon  drawn  by  four  mules.  These  vehicles  are  the 
worst  inflictions  in  Spain  ;  the  rugged  roads  and  the 
hard  seats  are  very  uncomfortable,  and  they  plunge 
from  side  to  side  to  such  an  extent  that  you  are  con- 
stantly thrown  across  the  carriage. 

When  at  last  we  had  reached  the  summit,  and  the 
peasants  had  taken  leave  of  us  with  their  ''  ^aya 
con  Dies  I''  we  stood  shivering  in  the  rude  wind,  which 
here  has  free  play.  Everything  around  was  beneath 
us;  we  stood  on  a  high  plateau  of  rocks;  before  us 
rose  the  enormous  palace.  The  road  to  it  led  across 
tomb-stones,  disfigured  by  dangerous  yawning  cavities. 
Before  the  entrance-gate  of  the  building  we  stood 
still  in  order  to  take  in  the  mass  of  towers  and  domes, 
of  which  one,  much  larger  than  the  rest,  crowns  the 
whole  edifice ;  we  cast  our  eyes  over  the  hundreds  of 
windows  and  doorways,  and  over  the  hard  lines  that 
held  the  whole  together.  And  it  became  evident  to  us 
that  the  royal  builder  and  his  architect  had  come  to 
a  perfect  understanding  to  erect  a  residence  fit  for  a 
tyrannical  king,  scorning  the  world  and  its  pleasures, 
and  having  nought  at  heart  save  the  honour  and  glory 
of  the  Catholic  Church. 

The  impression  received  at  entering  is  one  of  gloom 
and  sadness.  The  walls  are  of  unequalled  thickness, 
and  built  out  of  the  black  granite  of  the  rocks  that 
form  the  foundation  ;  the  windows  are  high  above  the 
ground,  and  furnished  with  broad  iron  as  in  a  prison. 
Priests  and  monks,  in  black  frocks,  pass  in  and  out 
on    every  side;  various  apartments  serve  as  a  semi- 


6i 


nary,  and  as  a  most  remarkable  library,  of  three  long 
rooms,  containing  thousands  of  books  and  manuscripts. 
White-washed  walls,  from  which  hang  numbers  of 
most  interesting  old  Spanish  pictures,  and  below, 
shelved  cupboards,  in  which  the  books  are  placed  with 
their  backs  turned  to  the  inside,  so  that  the  ordinary 
visitor  is  not  able  to  read  their  titles.  Thus  are  the 
faithful  taught.  Knowledge  is  only  for  the  initiated. 
Learning  is  not  intended  for  all  mankind  ;  it  might  be 
abused.  If  the  tendency,  nowadays,  be  towards  the 
popularizing  of  knowledge,  such  notions  are  not  allowed 
to  penetrate  within  these  walls.  The  whole  tone  of  this 
environment  is  heavy  and  oppressive. 

Only  the  church,  and   the   services:  these  are  de- 
lightful, after  you  have  walked  through  all  those  sombre 
apartments,  and  climbed  down  a  few  steps,  and  enter, 
with  bared  head,  the  great  oratory.     There  from  every 
side  the  glorious  light  streams  down  through  the  huge 
sky-light  upon  the  splendid  marble  pillars,  decorated 
with  ornaments  large  and  small.     The  choir  and   the 
space  behind  the  high  altar  have  even  been  enriched  by 
Italian    hands   with    beautiful    frescos,   and   handsome 
bas-reliefs  improve  the  aspect  of  the  walls.     But  this, 
again,  is  all.     As  you  pass  out,  through  the  sacristy, 
into  the  royal  palace  proper,  you  come  back  to  small, 
gloomy  rooms,  with  nothing  to  attract  your  attention, 
and  when  you  have  gone  through  them  all,  you  come 
at  last  to  the  room  where  the  old  King  spent  his  long 
years  of  sickness  and   where  he  died.     It  is  a  dark 
apartment;   his  writing-table  remains  where  it  stood, 
and   I  saw  a  wooden  prie-Diett,  on  which  I  sat  down. 
I  then  saw  that  I  was  alone ;  my  companions  did  not 
seem   to  take  much  interest  in  this  gloomy  solitude, 


\s>     ^._.. 


62 


EL    ESCORIAL 


but  our  guide  pointed  out  to  me  how  the  King  was  able, 
in  this  room,  to  push  aside  a  panel  next  his  bed,  and 
thus  hear  Mass  and  join  in  the  prayers  of  the  priests. 

In  imagination  I  saw  the  old,  unhappy,  yet  powerful 
monarch,  stretched  upon  his  bed  of  sickness ;  there  he 
lay,  grey-haired,  with  his  austere  face,  his  thick,  con- 
tracted underlip ;  his  eyes  shone  brightly  from  their 
wTinkled   sockets,   and   in   his   hands   he   held   a   large 


vellum  document.  Then  the  organ  resounded,  and  its 
tones  echoed  along  the  walls  of  the  close  bed-chamber ; 
I  saw  the  King  drawing  the  panel  with  trembling 
hands,  his  eyes  turned  towards  the  altar,  his  lips 
muttering  prayers.  The  incense  penetrated  into  the 
apartment,  the  mass-bell  rang  out ;  I  saw  the  priest 
kneeling,  rising,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  Then 
the  royal  head  fell  back  ;  all  was  still ;  my  reverie  was 
ended. 


m 


EL    ESCORL^L 


63 


When  we  had  left  Philip's  chamber  and  entered  a 
dark  corridor,  our  conductor  awaited  us  ;  and  as  he 
saw  that  I  was  no  indifferent  visitor,  he  pointed  to 
a  great  door,  covered  with  a  number  of  iron  locks 
and  ornaments,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of 
the  King's  room. 

"This  door,"  he  said,  "had  unfortunately  to  be 
locked,  for  there  is  nothing  but  destruction  and  van- 
dalism to  be  seen  within.  Here,  close  to  his  every-day 
apartment,  Philip  had  his  relic-room ;  here  he  had  col- 
lected hundreds  and  hundreds  of  the  rarest  relics 
of  saints,  apostles,  popes  and  priests,  contained  in 
magnificent  caskets  of  silver  and  gold,  some  adorned 
with  jewels,  others  with  chased  figures.  Here  he 
would  frequently  come  and  collect  his  sombre  re- 
miniscences, and  offer  prayers  for  the  salvation  of  all 
souls.  God  has  permitted,"  added  the  priest,  "that 
it  should  be  plundered  and  desecrated." 

A  few  steps  further  we  came  to  a  dark  stone  stair 
that  led  downwards  ;  it  seemed  that  we  were  to  de- 
scend into  a  subterranean  world. 

"  If  the  sehores  will  follow  me,"  said  our  guide, 
"  I  will  show  them  the  tombs  of  the  Royal  Family." 

He  rattled  his  keys,  and  the  iron  bolts  grated 
as  he  drew  them  from  their  sockets.  But  we  looked 
at  one  another  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  we 
should  take  away  with  us  a  sufficiently  sad  and  gloomy 
impression  of  this  palace ;  to  hear  read  out  the  list  of 
all  the  greatness  which  here  lies  mouldering  into  dust 
was  too  much  for  us.  We  ran  up  the  stairs  and  re- 
turned through  a  pillared  gallery  painted  with  rough 
frescos,  all  picturing  scenes  from  the  lives  of  canonized 
servants  of  the  Church.      Once  more  we  crossed  the 


N 


64 


EL    ESCORIAL 


great  grey  flags  which  form  the  terrace  of  the  building, 
and  made  our  way  back  to  the  public  road,  where  all 
was  deadly  still.  Only  in  the  distance  we  heard  the 
singing  of  the  seminarists  who  inhabited  the  palace. 
It  sounded  across  the  rude  environment,  like  the  song 
of  the  dead. 

Heated  and  fatigued,  we  returned  to  Madrid  ;  and 
to  our  great  disappointment  the  next  day  offered 
nothing  but  one  long,  hopeless  downpour,  and  the  day 
after,  Madrid  was  cold  and  chill,  wet  and  dripping  from 
the  rain.  So  we  determined  to  journey  slowly  to  the 
South,  making  Toledo  our  first  stopping-place. 


TOLEDO 

Moors,  jews,  knights,  armourers.  Inquisition, 
tournaments,  atttos-da-fd :  all  these  whirl  through' your 
head  as  you  journey  to  Toledo.  This  most  ancient  city 
on  the  Tagus  has  been  so  much  gnawed  by  the  teeth 
of  time  that  the  plan  of  the  city  resembles  no  plan  at 


66 


TOLEDO 


all,  and  one  seems  to  be  constantly  returning  to  the 
same  place.  Short,  narrow  streets  full  of  curves  and 
turns,  little  squares,  paved  with  large  cobbles,  contain- 
ing no  houses,  but  giving  on  to  stone  steps  that  lead 
you  along  passages  with  high  walls,  in  which  low 
apertures  containing  barred  windows  offer  the  only 
suspicion  of  human  life  behind.  Yet  one  does  not 
absolutely  lose  his  way,  because  the  town  lies  above 
and  the  river  below,  and  sooner  or  later  one  gathers 
his  whereabouts. 

But  it  was  raining  at  Toledo  too,  and  raining  hard. 
Fortunately  it  was  clear  on  our  arrival,  for  our  progress 
from  the  station  gave  us  the  best  idea  how  to  find  our 
way  about  Toledo.  A  long  road,  ascending  from  the 
Tagus  below  like  a  spiral  staircase,  offers  constant 
surprising  views  over  the  river  which  winds  round  the 
city.  A  quiet  hotel  awaited  us  :  no  reading-room,  no 
drawing-room  ;  the  coffee-room,  cl  comcdor,  was  dark, 
and  looked  out  upon  a  stable-yard  where  asses  stood 
braying  and  munching  their  hay.  We  felt  no  inclina- 
tion to  stay  in  this  house  more  than  necessary,  and  as 
soon  as  the  rain  permitted,  walked  up  the  street ;  but 
we  had  no  idea  of  what  it  means  w^hen  it  rains  at 
Toledo.  The  w^hole  had  the  appearance  of  a  mountain 
road.  The  streets  with  their  great  cobble-stones, 
raised  on  both  sides  of  the  way,  are  real  mountain 
passes  ;  and  they  were  now  filled  with  a  broad  torrent 
of  water  which  the  wind  and  the  recent  downpour  had 
turned  into  a  flood.  With  soaked  shoes  and  dripping 
hats,  we  looked  like  lost  wayfarers  in  search  of  shelter. 
Luckily  a  carrctcro  made  room  for  us  in  his  cart, 
and  we  were  soon  seated  again  in  our  melancholy 
hostelry. 


TOLEDO 


67 


In  the  afternoon  the  elements  were  no  longer  so 
hostile;  a  few  forgotten  clouds  drifted  overhead,  but 
the  sky  was  blue,  the  streets  dry.  Armed  with  my 
Spanish  walking-stick,  I  stepped  from  the  door  of  my 
fonda  and  turned  into  the  street.  The  stillness  was 
delicious,  and  I  wandered  curiously  through  the  twist- 
ing alleys  and  along  the  tall  grey  walls.  The  houses 
here  are  small  Arab  dwellings,  with  flat  roofs,  clearly 
dating  back  to  the  Moors.  There  is  little  evidence 
without  of  any  habitation  within.  The  windows  are 
low  down,  but  furnished  with  gratings  that  jut  out 
balcony-wise,  and  protect  the  windows,  which  are  gene- 
rally left  open,  against  ingress  from  the  outside. 

Through  one  of  these  windows  I  saw  a  charming 
picture.     Before  noticing  it  I  had  heard  a  child  crying, 
and  through  that  a  lullaby  in  a  woman's  voice  and  a 
tick-tack  which   seemed   to  accompany  the  song.      A 
few  steps  further  I   was   enabled   to  contemplate  the 
tableau  vivant  at  my  ease.     It  was  framed  in  the  large 
grating,  which  turned   it  into  a  three-quarter  length  ; 
the  depth   of  the   room    formed    a  warm,   dark   back- 
ground.    Against  the  side-wall,  close  to  the  window, 
stood    a   young   woman,    with    carefully-dressed   black 
hair,  in  which,  as  is  here  the  mode,  glowed  a  red  rose. 
The  yellow,  flowered  kerchief,  crossed  over  her  bosom, 
and   her  plain  grey  petticoat,  gave  her  a  simple  yet 
bright  and  picturesque  appearance.     In  her  arms  she 
held  a  poor  little  child,  which  leant  its  small  pale  face 
against  her  and  gently  fretted  and   sobbed.      But  she 
sought  to  comfort  it  by  using  a  large  fan  as  she  sang, 
and  tapping  the  measure  of  the  song  with  it  against 
the  iron  rail.     It  was  a  concert  and  a  picture  in  one  ; 
my  ear  and  my  eye  were  equally  charmed  ;  the  stillness 


if 


68 


TOLEDO 


of  the  surrounding-  tone  and  colour,  the  plaintive 
humming  of  the  sounds,  the  lines  and  attitude  of  the 
figures :  all  was  homely  and  touching.  Then  I  heard 
heavy  footsteps  upon  the  cobbles ;  a  pedlar  carrying 
his  basket,  covered  with  a  long  goat-skin ;  a  low 
sombrero  covered  his  features,  and  his  breeches  were 
twisted  round  his  legs  with  string.  A  big  stick  com- 
pleted his  outfit.  He  struck  up  a  loud  song  as  he 
approached  the  window,  and  the  mother  and  child  came 
still  nearer  the  window ;  it  was  clearly  the  husband 
and  father.  Like  myself,  he  for  a  moment  revelled  in 
the  pleasant  picture  at  the  window,  and  the  mother 
held  the  child  before  the  bars  so  that  the  husband 
could  press  his  lips,  with  the  black  mustachios,  to 
its  face ;  then  he  went  round  the  corner  to  enter  the 
door,  which  was  in  the  side-wall  of  the  house.  I 
stayed  a  moment  longer,  saw  the  happy  father  lift 
the  baby  high  in  the  air,  the  mother  lay  the  frugal 
table ;  and  then,  lest  I  should  seem  indiscreet,  I 
w^ent  my  way. 

Ls  this,  thought  I,  what  I  have  come  to  Toledo  for 
— a  picture  that  I  can  see  at  home,  anywhere  ?  I  had 
hoped  for  black  knights  on  horseback,  their  Toledo 
blades  buckled  round  them,  old  Jews  with  peaked  caps 
and  long  gaberdines,  or  at  least  a  little  procession  of 
white  friars  with  torches,  or  something  of  that  sort. 

But  this  old  city  of  Toledo  struck  no  chord  save 
that  of  my  ordinary  sensibility  ;  for  when  I  had  climbed 
out  of  this  steep  alley  and  found  myself  in  a  tolerably 
broad  street,  I  beheld  a  group  which  might  have  served 
as  a  pendant  to  the  last.  It  was  a  tall  peasant's 
figure,  in  a  straw  hat  and  a  dark-blue  coat.  The  man 
walked   beside  a  donkey.       He   carried  a   long  stick, 


TOLEDO 


69 


with  the  leaves  on  it,  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
he  preserved  the  balance  of  a  big  basket  which  hung 
from  the  donkey  s  back  and  contained  ....  an  almost 
naked  child,  which  held  a  large  apple  in  its  hand. 
The  grace  of  the  delightful  little  naked  boy  with  his 
apple,  the  loosely-plaited  basket  in  which  he  sat,  the 


j^gL^'>--"y* 


■M 


*-•«♦< 


fine  grey  colour  of  the  ass,  and  the  robust  and  powerful 
attitude  of  the  father,  made  a  picture  in  which  nothing 
was  wanting.  If  I  could  only  have  painted  it  then 
and  there ;  as  it  was,  I  had  to  content  myself,  when  I 
returned  to  my  fonda,  with  jotting  down  a  note  of  it 
in  my  sketch-book. 


SUNDAY   AT   TOLEDO 

YESTERDA\'   the    rain    poured    from   the   heavens, 

accompanied  with  thunder  and  forked  li<^ditning;  to-day 

we  can  sing,  ''  Licbclien,  was  luillst  dit  noch  vielir?'' 

A  deep   blue   sky,   veined   with    little    smiling   clouds. 

This  Sunday  morning  is  a  true  surprise.     After  those 

chill,  wet  days,  how  delightful  to  bathe  in   light  and 

warmth.      The    streets   are    filled    with    ^rirls    in    their 

Sunday  best;  they  carry  their  fans  and  mantillas  with 

a  stately  grace,  and  have  selected  the  church  for  their 

meeting-place.     We  willingly  follow  the  stream  of  the 

crowd  and  enter  a  great  porch  surmounted  by  a  large 

70 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO 


71 


white  cross  and  a  flapping  banner;  we  then  find 
ourselves  in  a  spacious  square,  which  surrounds  the 
church.  These  squares,  or  patios,  of  Spain  have  a 
characteristic  picturesqueness.  Here,  in  the  middle,  a 
fountain  slowly  clatters,  and  is  caught  in  a  large, 
weather-beaten  marble  basin.  Around  it  lean  or  sit 
people  who  are  waiting  or  resting.  People  rest  a 
great  deal  in  Spain.  This  square  also  contains  the 
entrances  to  the  houses  of  those  who  serve  the  church. 
You  see  priests  and  acolytes  walking  to  and  fro  in 
their  many-coloured  vestments,  with  censers,  banners, 
crucifixes.  But  finest  of  all  is  the  sun,  shining 
through  the  trees  which  are  planted  here  and  there, 
irregularly,  in  the  patio,  the  trees  whose  foliage 
harmonizes  so  well  with  the  grey  environment  of 
pavement  and  wall.  In  the  great  masses  of  shadow 
which  they  cast  upon  the  ground  lie  the  indispensable 
beggars,  in  all  attitudes.  Before  you  can  reach  the 
church  door,  a  little  old  woman  takes  you  by  the  arm, 
and  with  her  head  bowed  in  pity  to  one  side,  points 
to  her  spouse,  a  dwarf  with  no  legs,  an  enormous 
great  head,  and  black  as  a  nigger.  A  blind  man  sits 
beside  him  and,  whining,  holds  his  alms-box  before 
you.  A  young  girl  with  magnificent  eyes  and  wildly 
disordered  hair  holds  out  to  you  something  that  re- 
sembles a  hand,  of  which  a  large  portion  is  cut  off. 
You  start  back,  hastily  fling  down  some  coppers,  and 
with  a  sense  of  relief  enter  the  pomp  of  the  great 
mother-church. 

The  tall  vault  rests  upon  broad  pillars.  At  other 
times  it  may  be  dark  and  gloomy ;  this  morning  the 
sun  shines  so  clearly  through  the  old  stained  glass 
that  a  tempered,  vaporous  grey  tone  reigns   through 


72 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO 


Iti 


the   whole    space.     We   hear   a    priest's   voice    in    the 
distance,  and   proceed   in   the  direction   of  the  sound. 
The  man  stands  hig^h  up  in  the  pulpit,  with  his  grey 
hair — which   hangs  about  his  brown   shiny  skull   like 
a  wreath — his  large  hooked  nose,  his  deep  sunk  eyes. 
He  wears  a  white  embroidered  surplice  over  his  black 
cassock ;  he  emphasizes  his  words  with  large  gestures 
of  the  hands.      Sometimes   he  beats  the  pulpit  with 
his   hands;   he  shouts,  weeps,  and  prays.     I  can  dis- 
tinguish   none   of   his    words,    and   yet    I    understand 
all  he  says;  but   his  words  cannot   prevent    me   from 
keeping   my  eyes   upon    the   dark    mass  of  men    and 
women  who  lie  upon    the   ground    before   the  pulpit. 
They  lie  right  before  it  and  all  around,  their  faces  on 
the  floor;  it  is  a  heap  of  black  veils,  black  hair,  black 
gowns,   and,   through    this,  glimpses     of  bald    skulls, 
brown  hands  holding  prayer-books,  and  here  and  there 
a  white  handkerchief  held  before  the  eyes.     Over  their 
heads  the  priest  with  both  hands  scatters  his  glowing 
imprecations  and   exhortations.     I    listen   eagerly  and 
attentively.     At  last  his  voice  sinks ;  he  speaks  softly, 
for   his   own   ear;    the   multitude   rises.      The   organ 
groans,  the  choir  resumes  its  chant,  the  mass  is  con- 
tinued.    We  too  had   sunk  to  the   ground  ;    now  w^e 
stood   up  and   listened   to  the  music,   which   sounded 
sweet  and  modern  through  the  space.     It  was  a  mass 
by  Verdi,   and   I   then    understood  why  it  impressed 
me  so  strangely  in  this  church,  so  harmoniously  and 
charmingly. 

We  sat  enjoying  our  beautiful  surroundings,  the 
picturesque  figures,  the  many  warm  brow^n  and  charac- 
teristic faces,  the  rustling  skirts  of  the  stately  matrons, 
and    the   music.     All    this  combined  with  the  festive 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO  73 

sunny  glow  which  poured  through  the  scene  to  give 
us  a  delightful  Sunday  morning,  and  I  thought  that, 
if  I  lived  at  Toledo,  I  would  go  to  this  church  every 
Sunday.  Every  Sunday  morning  I  would  be  willing 
to  do  penance,  enjoy  the  music,  the  incense,  and  the 
glorious  light,  and  imagine  myself  edified. 

On  the  afternoon  of  this  delightfully  sunny  day  we 
explored  the  town  and  environs  of  Toledo.     Throuo-h 
some   narrow   streets,    all    slanting   downwards,   down 
stairs  paved  with  arduous,  pointed  cobbles,  along  very 
old  and  crumbling  walls,  we  reached   the  Zocodover, 
the  Arab  name  for  a  place  or  square.     Ages  ago  this 
quiet  city,  where  nowadays  everything  is  Spanish  and 
Catholic  as  a  matter  of  course,   w^as  the  seat  of  the 
Moors  and  Jews.     The  very  name  Toledo  is  bastard 
Hebrew:   it  means  the  city  of  the  descendants.     The 
Alcazar  above,   the   Bridge  of  Alcantara  below,   have 
retained  the  names  of  their  former  masters.     Yet  so 
much,  so  very  much,  has  happened   here  since  those 
days.     Nowadays,  however,  there  are  neither  tourna- 
ments   nor    burnings    on    the    Zocodover.       The    gay 
military  band    of   the   cadet    school    draws    the  whole 
town.      Young  subalterns  stride  to  and   fro,  and  the 
population  of  Toledo  spends  its  Sunday  sitting  in  the 
cafes  in  the  pleasant  sunlight. 

We  drift  down  more  streets,  and  come  to  a  museum. 
MUSEO  is  inscribed  over  the  door  in  large  letters. 
Alas !  Is  there  no  town  without  its  museum,  and  is 
every  visitor  obliged  to  enter?  Luckily  it  was  Sunday, 
and  the  doors  were  closed;  w^e  were  able  quietly  to 
pursue  our  way.  Meantime  we  felt  relieved  to  think 
that  Toledo  also  had  its  museum. 

It    had    not    spoilt   our   beautiful   afternoon.      We 

K 


\ 


/f 


74 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO 


continued  to  climb  lower  and  lower  through  the  town, 
and  with  some  ditliculty,  owing  to  the  crazy  ruins  and 
wynds  that  do  duty  for  streets,  we  at  last  reached  the 
Tagus,  where  it  is  crossed  by  the  famous  old  bridge  of 
the  Moors,  del  Alcantara. 

I  was  very  tired,  and  sat  down  half-way  across  the 
bridge,  on  a  large  stone.  I  quietly  contemplated  the 
old  weather-beaten,  but  very  picturesque,  Moorish 
bridge ;  the  yellow  water  of  the  Tagus  lay  around  me 
in  a  deep  bed,  confined  within  rugged  clumps  of 
stones,  which  were  heaped  up  into  embankments,  and 
wildly  overgrown  with  trees  and  bushes. 

It  grew  time  to  return,  along  the  beautiful  outer 
road,  to  the  plateau  above,  where  the  sun  was  slowly 
sinking.  I  anxiously  raised  my  eyes  to  the  high  ascent 
that  lay  before  me  :   I  was  already  so  fatigued. 

''I  know,"  cried  my  son;  ''in  this  country  you 
must  ride  a  donkey.     There  must  be  one  about." 

A  man  stood  leaning  o\'er  the  broad  parapet, 
looking  into  the  water  and  spitting  circles  in  the 
river,  after  the  Spanish  fashion,  while  smoking 
his  cigarette.  His  brown  and  weather-beaten  face, 
his  bare  and  muscular  arms  and  legs,  showed  him 
to  be  a  skipper,  learned  in  the  ways  of  wind  and 
weather:  his  boat  lay  tossing  a  little  further  down 
the  stream. 

''  Boiiifo  scnor^^  said  my  son,  ''would  you  have  the 
goodness  to  tell  me  if  there  is  a  bityro  to  be  obtained 
anywhere  about  here?" 

He  lifted  himself  slowly  from  his  lounging  attitude 
and  looked  at  us  with  surprise  and  curiosity.  Then 
he  touched  the  stift'  brim  of  his  toreador  hat  with  his 
forefinger,  and  said : 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO 


75 


"  Yo  creo,  yo  crco,  scnorcs :  I  think  so,  gentlemen, 
I  think  so." 

I  did  not  understand  where  he  was  going  to  pro- 
duce a  donkey  from   in    this  wilderness,   but  already 
he  \vas  a  long  way  off  and  out  of  sight.     We  waited 
quietly.      Suddenly  we    saw  him    on    a  height  above 
us ;    he  clambered   from   one   rock  to   the  other,  and 
at   last    climbed    up   to   a    little   hut,    which   we   saw 
hanging  high  above  our  heads.      Something  moved  : 
it  was  a  woman,  who  looked  down  to  see  what  sort  of 
people  she  w^as  being  asked  to  entrust  her  donkey  to. 
Then  her  husband  appeared,  a  little  red  fellow,  with- 
out a  hat,  with  reddish  woolly  hair  like  Sancho  Panza, 
a  fat  red   nose,  dimpled  cheeks,  and   bare  feet.      He 
dragged  the  donkey  slowly  behind  him.     This  caravan, 
the  skipper,   the  man    and    the  donkey,   carefully  de- 
scended the  hill,  and  we  were  delighted  at  having  at 
last  succeeded  in  providing  ourselves  with  the  essen- 
tial, although  peculiar,  means  of  locomotion  in  the  land 
which  we  were   perambulating.      Soon,   with   the  aid 
of  the  donkey's  owner,  and  of  the  skipper,  and  of  my 
son,  and  of  friend  Erens,  I  was  helped  on  to  the  back 
of  my  grey  steed  ;  but  strange  to  say,  after  the  first  few 
steps,  I  as  quickly,  and  with  no  help  whatever,  found 
myself  upon  the  ground  again.     I  was  not  in  the  least 
hurt,  and  was  hoisted   up  once  more.     Now  I  under- 
stood  better  how  to  ride   my  mount :  I  must  neither 
pull    nor    push,    but    simply    respond    to    the    beast's 
indifference  with  equal  forbearance. 

And  at  last  I  began  to  make  my  donkey  go.  When 
you  are  travelling  beyond  inhabited  regions  and  are  in 
no  hurry,  to  ride  a  donkey  is  worth  all  the  world  to 
you.      Step  by  step,  calmly  and  peacefully,  your  long- 


f 


i 


76 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO 


eared,  patient  steed  walks  on,  with  not  a  sound  to 
break  the  stillness  of  the  scene.  \'ou  hear  no  rumbling 
of  wheels  or  clatter  of  hoofs  ;  you  move  through  the 
surrounding  landscape  in  a  series  of  gentle  bounds. 
\'ou  tremble  a  little  as  you  ai)proach  a  precipice  and 
feel  somewhat  anxious  on  climbing  a  hill,  when  the 
stones  roll  down  the  path  you  are  engaged  in  ascend- 
ing. But  the  beast  itself  tells  you  how  to  conduct 
yourself.  Although,  as  usual,  my  mount  did  not  utter 
a  word,  he  gave  me  clearly  to  understand  that  I  must 
sit  tight  whenever  the  ascent  became  at  all  steep; 
at  such  times  he  turned  his  head  upwards  in  my 
direction,  pricked  his  long  ears  twice  or  thrice,  and 
contracted  his  back,  as  though  to  say.  Sit  tight,  please; 
this  is  a  difficult  bit!  When,  however,  we  were  de- 
scending, he  would  lash  his  tail  around  me,  throw  his 
head  back  and  then  suddenly  straight  downwards,  to 
show  me  that  if  I  were  to  tumble  over  his  head  into 
the  abyss  below,  I  should  have  a  very  uncomfortable 
fall,  and  that  he  recommended  me  to  sit  well  back  and 
to  give  him  none  of  my  nonsense.  Once,  however,  I 
thought  he  had  lost  his  head ;  for  as  we  were  ap- 
proaching the  town,  my  solemn  dreamer  suddenly 
stood  still,  turned  to  the  right  out  of  the  road,  and 
marched  straight  up  to  a  peasant's  cottage.  I  tugged 
at  his  bridle,  I  beat  him,  I  assured  him  by  all  his  gods 
that  he  was  going  w  rong :  it  was  of  no  avail ;  but 
presently  he  stood  still  again,  on  reaching  a  big  stone 
trough  filled  with  limpid  water.  Without  a  word  of 
apology  my  grey  dipped  his  large  head  into  it,  quenched 
his  thirst,  and  then  crept  cleverly  back  into  the  road 
and  caught  up  my  company,  whose  roars  of  laughter 
failed  to  upset  his  equanimity  for  a  single  moment. 


SUNDAY    AT    TOLEDO 


77 


xMy  first  donkey-ride  gave  me  great  satisfaction, 
and  thenceforward  I  was  always  able  to  get  on  in  the 
best  of  ways  with  these  patient  beasts. 

At  Toledo  the  weather  continued  stormy  and  un- 
pleasantly cc]d.  We  longed  for  the  south,  the  warm 
sun,  an  eastern  sky ;  and  so  we  determined  to  move 
our  tents  to  Cordova. 


I' 


u 


1 


CORDOVA 

A    REAL    Spanish    railway-journey   takes   you    from 

Toledo  to  Cordova :  no  one  is  in  a  hurry,  neither  the 

traveller,  nor  least  of  all  the  train  ;  the  names  of  the 

stations  are  not  called  out,  every  one  seems  to  know 

where  he  is.     Long  stoppages   are  made  at  the  most 

insignificant  places.    You  alight  at  every  platform,  light 

a  cigarette,  and   have  a  look   round  ;   two  carabineers 

78 


CORDOVA 


79 


with  loaded  guns  leave  the  train  and  are  relieved  by 
two  others.  The  guard  and  station-master  chat  with 
the  shabby  troop  of  inquisitives  who  crowd  round  the 
train,  and  there  is  a  perambulating  refreshment-room 
in  the  shape  of  a  woman  who  carries  a  large  stone 
jar  and  cries,  ''  Acjua  frcsca  !^'  Furthermore,  a  heap 
of  ragged  street-boys,  and,  of  course,  a  large  number 
of  beggars. 

At  one  of  these  little  places,  where  the  train  stopped 
even  longer  than  usual,  in  order  to  await  the  arrival 
of  another  train,  I  was  attracted  by  the  lines  of  the 
surrounding  landscape  and  stepped  out  to  take  the  air. 
Suddenly  I  felt  some  one  tapping  me  familiarly  on  the 
back,  as  though  an  old  acquaintance  desired  to  speak 
to  me.  I  looked  round  and  saw  a  fellow  before  me 
armed  with  a  big  cudgel.  Addressing  me  in  an  idiom 
of  which  I  understood  not  a  word,  he  held  out  his 
huge  hand  and  asked  for  alms.  Irritated  by  the 
man's  impertinence,  I  turned  my  back  on  him,  and 
made  as  though  I  w^ere  sketching  something;  but  a 
little  boy  standing  by,  and  of  the  same  kidney, 
screamed  in  my  ear,  in  plain  Spanish  : 

**  He  wants  you  to  give  him  some  money;  doesn't 
the  schor  understand  ?  " 

This  quite  exhausted  my  patience,  and  I  pulled  a 
face  as  though  I  had  no  idea  what  was  meant ;  and 
when  his  big  comrade  swooped  down  on  me  again,  the 
small  one  screamed  with  laughter,  and  cried  : 

''He  is  a  fool;  let  him  go;  he  has  no  notion  of 
what  you  want !  " 

In  the  train  I  saw  that  we  passed  Val  de  Penas,  the 
little  place  which  produces  the  famous  wine  of  that 
name.     The  country-side  here  was  very  different  from 


8o 


CORDOVA 


m 


ii 


II 


the  region  we  had  quitted  ;  ah'eady  we  saw  signs  of  the 
South,  and  the  further  we  went  the  greater  the  differ- 
ence. Aloes  and  cactus-plants  adorned  the  roads  with 
their  broad  and  marvellous  shapes,  interspersed  with 
tall  ferns  and  variegated  flowers.  And  finally  the 
Guadalcjuiver,  its  yellow-green  stream  overhung  by 
hundreds  of  olive-trees,  with  their  crooked,  black 
boughs,  from  which  hangs  the  fine,  thinly-outlined 
grey  foliage.  This  tender  green  of  the  olive-tree,  stand- 
ing out  against  the  yellow  maize  or  the  bright  green 
garbanzos,  is  one  of  Nature's  splendid  discoveries  in 
colour;  when  the  setting  sun  sows  golden  stripes 
through  the  azure  sky,  as  now,  the  whole  landscape 
becomes  full  of  richness  and  diversity;  and  when  at 
last  we  approached  Cordova,  we  all  three  put  our 
heads  out  of  the  window.  We  saw  our  first  palm- 
trees,  which,  with  their  long,  narrow,  simple  crowns 
of  leaves,  stood  out  above  all  the  other  vegetation  like 
giraffes  in  an  eastern  forest. 

As  we  steamed  into  Cordova,  the  refrain  of  Heine's 
poem  sang  in  my  ears : 

"  In  dem  Dome  zu  Cordova, 
Stehen  Saulen  dreizehnhundert, 
Dreizehnhundert  Riesensaulen 
Tragen  die  gewalt'ge  Kuppel." 

Our  curiosity  had  again  reached  a  climax,  and  once 
more  the  morrow  promised  much. 


CORDOVA   CATHEDRAL 

IT  was  a  manifestly  southern  atmosphere  that  greeted 
us  the  next  morning:  a  yellowish  blue  sky,  no  breeze 
and  a  sultry  air.  Toledo's  narrow,  tortuous  streets 
were  here  replaced  by  a  broad  country  road,  which 
led  from  our  hotel  through  the  town.  To  us  strangers 
this  street  looked  as  though  a  great  road-sweeper  had 
made    a    clearance    through    ruins,    mounds    of   earth 


I 


It 


ft 


if 


82 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


and  grass,  demolishing-  houses,  overturning  blocks  of 
marble ;  for  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  main  road 
to  the  city,  where  we  encountered  not  a  soul,  we  could 
discover  scarce  any  human  habitation.  Gradually  we 
came  to  inhabited  streets,  and  finally  to  a  square  sur- 
rounded by  a  few  tall  houses;  the  market  was  being 
held,  but  without  fuss  or  movement.  Still,  Arab-like, 
wrapped  in  white  burnouses,  sat  the  market-women, 
with  carefully  covered  heads  and  bare  feet,  beside  their 
big  baskets  filled  with  poultry  and  fruit.  It  was  a 
foretaste  of  the  Moors  and  Arabs  we  were  to  meet 
later. 

Following  the  road,  we  came  to  another  open  space, 
and  at  last  found  the  wonder  of  Cordova,  the  ereat 
mosque,  temple  or  cathedral,  before  us.  We  beheld 
it  with  a  certain  disappointment :  a  rude,  red-brown, 
stone  wall,  and  behind  this  an  irregular  square,  dis- 
playing no  architectural  beauty.  Like  everything  else, 
it  looked  deserted.  Wq  walked  to  this  side  and  that, 
and  at  last  found  an  entrance. 

"You  must  remember,"  said  Erens,  "for  I  have  read 
the  subject  up,  how  often  this  city  and  temple  have 
changed  masters.  The  Romans  and  the  Goths  were 
the  first  to  have  a  principal  temple  here,  and  when  the 
town  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Moors,  one  of  the 
caliphs  conceived  the  idea  of  founding  a  mosque  such 
as  had  never  been  seen  before.  Now  this  same  spot 
has  been  harassed  by  earthquakes,  wars,  religious 
enthusiasm  ;  one  demolished  what  the  other  erected  ; 
and  yet  it  remains  a  marvel." 

When  we  had  passed  through  the  gate  in  the  front 
wall,  we  walked  along  a  handsome  lane  of  orange-trees 
straight  up  to  the  entrance  to  the  mosque 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


83 


As  you  enter,  you  are  struck  by  a  confused  heap  of 
pillared  aisles,  and  you  despair  of  finding  the  way. 
Slowly,  however,  the  eye  grows  accustomed  to  the 
sight,  and  you  perceive  broader  passages  which  point 
the  road  through  this  labyrinth.  But  Heine  had  misled 
us:  these  pillars  were  no  giants,  but  little,  narrow- 
pillars,  only  a  few  yards  high,  rising  from  the  floor 
without  plinths.  They  spread  out  on  either  side  into 
flat  arches,  arabesque  in  form,  richly  decorated,  sculp- 
tured and  coloured  ;  and  these  arches  carry  the  vault, 
which,  however,  far  from  being  a  '' gewaltige  Ktippel} 
is  quite  low,  and  is  surmounted  by  another,  borne 
upon  a  few^  taller  pillars.  The  whole  is  a  harmony  of 
lines  to  which  you  must  grow  used  before,  slowly,  it 
commences  to  rouse  your  amazement. 

But  suddenly  this  impression  is  disturbed.  After 
walking  past  some  hundreds  of  pillars,  you  come  un- 
expectedly upon  a  wide  space.  Pillars,  vault,  all  are 
broken  away;  a  choir  and  a  high  altar  take  their  place ; 
you  are  in  a  Catholic  church.  But  in  a  building  so 
enormous  a  little  mutilation  does  not  matter;  the 
further  you  wander,  the  more  wondrously  are  you  over- 
powered by  the  labyrinthine  whole.  The  light  which 
comes  from  the  outside,  from  above,  from  the  sides, 
and  only  half  illumines  all  these  pillars,  and  draws 
lines  over  the  floor,  gives  grotesque  effects  of  light 
and  shade,  and  mysterious  corners  full  of  soft  tones 
and  shifting  colours. 

We  were  not  very  fortunate  in  our  choice  of  a  day 
properly  to  enjoy  this  famous  building,  for  there  was 
a  terrible  knocking  and  hammering  in  one  of  the 
vaulted  aisles.  We  had  to  pass  through  this,  and  I, 
who  am  always  somewhat  of  a  chatterbox,  struck  up  a 


it 


II 


84 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


conversation   in   my  best   Spanish   with    the   architect 
who  was  superintending  the  work. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "you  have  no  idea  how  often  repairs 
are  needed  here ;  this  has  to  be  propped  up,  that  wants 
new  stones,  or  sometimes  has  to  be  broken  away  en- 
tirely, to  prevent  its  crushing  down  to  the  floor.  The 
kirge  number  of  gates  and  entrances  which  the  building 
contains,  but  which  you  can't  see  from  the  inside,  causes 
this  huge  edifice  to  suffer  greatly  from  stormy  weather ; 
and  the  worst  of  all  is,"  he  added,  whispering,  "  that 
there  is  not  really  sufficient  money  to  do  justice  to  this 
marvel  of  Moorish  architecture.  If  that  were  not  so, 
you  would  see  something  very  different." 

Then  he  took  us  to  the  real  oratory  of  the  Caliphs, 
which  he  told  us  was  still  quite  intact.  Indeed  this 
oratory  of  the  Caliphs  is  exceptionally  rich  in  hand- 
some decorations,  and  when  you  have  looked  at  every- 
thing over  and  over  again,  you  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  this  is  a  building  which  more  than  any  other  dis- 
plays the  immense  talent  and  artistic  power  of  the 
Arabs. 

WHien  you  reflect  that  here,  in  the  evening,  thou- 
sands of  lamps  burned  for  the  Maarif  prayers,  that 
carpets  were  spread  for  the  worshipping  Moors,  of 
whom  hundreds  and  thousands  dwelt  in  this  city,  you 
can  conceive  an  idea  of  the  spectacle  which  this  con- 
glomeration of  pillars  must  have  presented  beneath 
these  long  and  heavily-vaulted  walls. 

We  felt  somewhat  depressed  on  leaving  the  mosque  ; 
all  that  ancient  splendour,  those  stone  monuments  of  a 
bygone  grandeur,  made  us  quiet  and  reflective.  The 
sun  outside,  a  palm-tree  in  the  middle  of  the  sandy 
road,    with    a    brown    boy    keeping    his    black    goats 


^.1 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


85 


together  with  a  long  stick,  brought  us  to  ourselves 
again.  Everyday  life  has  a  charm  by  the  side  of 
which  the  finest  works  of  art  count  for  nothing. 

On  arriving  at  owx  fouda,  we  found  it  surrounded 
by  street-boys  and  all  kinds  of  people ;  clearly  Cordova 
still  contained  a  population.  Nay  more,  in  the  midst 
of  the  crowd  stood  some  military  bandsmen.  A 
general  had  alighted  at  Cordova  to  visit  his  family, 
who  were  dining  with  him  at  the  hotel.  A  pleasant 
liveliness  reigned  in  the  comcdor  as  we  entered  ;  the 
guests  were  all  seated,  and,  as  is  universal  in  Spain, 
high  and  low  sat  at  the  same  table. 

At  the  head  sat  the  general,  a  fine-looking,  thick- 
set Spaniard,  with  big  grey  mustachios,  short  grizzled 
hair,  and  a  dark-brown  face — a  real  Velasquez  type. 
On  both  sides  of  him  were  his  family :  a  very  old, 
bent  man,  his  father  perhaps,  laughing  with  amuse- 
ment, but  finding  great  difficulty  in  conveying  his  soup 
across  the  white  napkin  fastened  round  his  neck,  into 
his  sunk  mouth.  Two  tall  striplings,  and  some  merry 
young  girls,  with  their  black  hair  dressed  very  high. 
We  others  sat  at  the  lower  end  :  there  we  found  the 
regular  customers  of  the  hotel,  strange  weather-beaten 
faces,  travellers  in  shooting-jackets,  whose  hunger  made 
them  study  the  menu  very  seriously,  and  examine 
closely  all  that  stood  on  the  table. 

My  neighbour  was  a  well-dressed  gentleman  of 
distinguished  appearance.  I  had  already  observed  him 
in  the  morning,  walking  about  the  hotel  with  a  busy 
air,  clad  in  riding-boots,  a  flowing  Spanish  cloak,  and 
a  steeple-crowned  felt  hat.  We  ate  our  soup,  and  the 
next  course  seemed  rather  curious  to  us :  a  large  dish 
full  of  rice,  with   Spanish  pepper,  and  snails  in  their 


fill' 


86 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


shells,  all  stewed  up  to^rether.  I  pulled  a  doubtful  face, 
and  did  not  know  how  I  was  to  eat  it.  With  great 
friendliness  my  neig-hbour  addressed  me  in  English. 

*'Try  it,"  he  said,  '^you  will  see  it  is  not  so  bad. 
Yes,  you  will  find  things  a  little  difticult  here,  but 
...  I  think  ...  I  shall  be  able  to  be  of  good  use 
to  you  and  your  friends"—  and  with  that  his  card 
lay  beside  my  plate. 

A  card  with  a  coronet  above  his  name  and  title: 
iMarc|ues  de  Guaranja.  Greatly  honoured,  I  thanked 
him,  but  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  give  him  mine, 
nor  did  I  have  time  to  produce  it,  for  he  immediately 
continued  : 

''  I  am  a  Spaniard,  but  I  travel  all  over  the  world. 
I  can  talk  English,  French,  or  anything  you  like,  and  I 
am  at  home  and  well  known  in  every  hotel.  May  I 
have  the  honour  of  giving  you  introductions  to  the 
hotels  you  still  propose  to  visit  in  Spain  ;  you  will  see 
that,  if  you  use  my  name,  they  will  receive  you  better 
wherever  you  go  !  " 

I  muttered  some  reply,  not  knowing  what  to  say  to 
these  offers  of  service.  The  marquis  next  stood  up, 
called  one  of  the  w^aiters,  whispered  something  in  his 
ear,  and  rubbed  his  hands  contentedly. 

"  Now  you  are  going  to  taste  something,"  he  cried. 

My  travelling-companions  looked  round  inquisi- 
tively, and  the  great  man  again  rose  from  his  seat  and 
made  them  an  elegant  bow.  Presently  the  waiter 
returned  with  a  tray  with  four  clean  glasses  and  a 
bottle  wrapped  in  many  cobwebs. 

"  See  here,  Saiores,  this  is  Val-de-Penas,  the  power- 
fullest  wine  in  Europe.  I  supply  it  to  all  the  big 
people  in  France  and  England." 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


87 


He  produced  a  neat  pocket-book,  and  showed  us  the 
names  of  all  sorts  of  lofty  personages,  his  customers. 
Then  he  made  his  speech  : 

"You  gentlemen  come  from  Holland,  I  know,  a 
wealthy  country.  I  should  like  to  have  a  connection 
there.  Gentlemen,  my  book  is  open,  this  is  an  auspi- 
cious day  ;  may  I  book  an  order  to  you  ?  " 

So  that  was  what  he  was  :  a  wine-merchant.  I 
had  some  experience,  however,  in  this  matter,  and 
exclaimed  : 

'' Scuor  uiarqucs,  don't  you  know  that  we  in 
Holland  drink  nothing  but  water,  and  only  take  the 
wine  which  grows  in  Holland  and  is  called  a 
bittcrtjef' 

The  marquis  turned  red  with  rage,  but  kept  his 
temper. 

'' Sehor,''  he  said,  in  a  pained  voice,  ''you  mock  me  : 
I  have  never  been  treated  thus  before  ; "  and  when  the 
dessert  was  served,  he  had  disappeared. 

We  were  filled  with  merriment  and  surprise  at  this 
nobleman,  and  doubtless  talked  rather  loudly,  as  the 
military  band  from  time  to  time  tended  to  drown  the 
conversation.  Suddenly  one  of  the  guests  stood  up, 
and  with  a  glass  of  claret  in  his  hand,  bowed  to  us 
across  the  table  and  said,  in  excellent  Dutch  : 

''  May  I  bid  you  gentlemen  welcome  to  Spain  ?  " 

Electrified,  we  all  three  sprang  up  and  touched 
glasses  with  our  fellow-countryman,  and  after  the  des- 
sert, \\\\S\  its  many-coloured  fruits  and  bright  plates,  was 
finished,  we  made  our  way  to  him  and  shook  hands. 

The  guests  separated,  the  general  left  the  house 
amid  much  cheering  and  blowing  of  trumpets,  and  we 
stayed  chatting  in  a  comfortable  room. 


88 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


il 


**  Gentlemen,"  said  our  new  friend,  "  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me  for  joining  you,  but  when  for  five  years  one 
has  not  heard  a  word  of  Dutch  spoken,  one  gets  such 
an  unspeakably  overmastering  sensation  on  hearing  it 
again.  I  thought  Holland  was  nothing  more  to  me, 
and  now  I  feel  {|uite  disconsolate  at  the  idea  of  having 
to  stay  on  here." 

He  gave  us  his  card,  and  proved  to  be  the  agent 
of  a  bi<^  commercial  firm  which  bought  wine  in  the 
mountains  around  us.  I  asked  lirens  to  produce  his 
card,  but  neither  he  nor  my  son  had  ever  owned  so 
luxurious  an  article.  I  must  needs  bring  forth  my 
own.     He  looked  at  it,  examined  it  again,  and  asked  : 

"  Surely  not  the  painter?  " 

*'  No,"  I  replied,  ''  I  am  his  uncle,  this  is  his  son, 
and  this  is  one  of  his  intimate  friends." 

''How  stupid  of  me,"  he  said.  "Of  course  the 
painter  is  not  so  old  ;  however,  you  are  related.  \'ou 
must  take  a  glass  of  good  wine  with  me  to  celebrate 
our  meeting.  Well,  and  what  do  you  say  to  this  queer 
food,  which  they  put  before  you  here  as  delicacies?  I 
have  got  used  to  it  all :  dishes  of  oil,  with  chicken-legs 
and  livers  swimming  in  it,  and  crackling  dishes  of  rice 
and  what  not.  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing,  the 
people  are  only  so-so.  \'ery  difficult  for  us  to  get  on 
with.  A  splendid  place,  but  no  real  Dutchman  ever 
feels  at  home  in  a  foreign  country.  Yes,  when  I 
remember  how  I  used  to  come  home  to  my  mother's 
house  at  Rotterdam,  feeling  cold  and  hungry,  and  how 
a  great  cod-fish  stood  ready  on  the  table,  with  a  big 
dish  of  steaming  potatoes,  and  she  sat  there.  .  .  ." 

And  as  I  live,  he  pulled  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  eyes. 


CORDOVA    CATHEDRAL 


89 


The  bottle  was  soon  uncorked,  and  as  there  was  a 
piano  in  the  room,  our  jolly  Dutchman  went  over  to  it, 
and  played  IVilhebmis  van  Nassouwen  so  that  you 
could  hear  it  through  the  whole  hotel,  followed  up  by 
IVien  Neerlandsch  bloed  and  A I  is  ons  prmsje  nog 
zoo  klcin.  We  joined  in  the  chorus  at  the  top  of 
our  voices,  and  joking  and  laughing,  we  emptied  the 
Margaux  and  discussed  Holland  and  its  inhabitants. 
Never  in  our  own  country  had  we  displayed  such 
extraordinary  patriotism  as  here,  in  this  old  Spain,  at 
far  Cordova. 

The  next  day  our  Dutch  friend  took  us  round  to 
look  at  some  fine  houses,  old  and  new  mingled  in  the 
same  quarter;  we  visited  a  few  antiquities,  and  in  the 
afternoon  we  v/ent  further  south,  to  the  fair  town  of 
Seville,  the  Hague  of  Spain. 


li 


SEVILLE 

As  a  lad,  I  always  thought  of  Seville  as  a  town  where 
one  wandered  at  night  by  moonlight,  and  saw  Juliet 
sitting  at  a  high  balconied  window,  receiving  an 
ovation  from  an  Andalusian  knight,  who  twanged  his 
guitar  for  her  benefit  in  the  street  below.  But  time 
has  worked  changes  in  Seville  as  elsewhere. 

On  our  arrival  we  saw  that  the  town  was  holding 
high  festival  and  decking  itself  for  a  religious  display, 

and  we  learnt  that,  on  the  morrow,  the  great  annual 

90 


SEVILLE 


91 


procession  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  was  to  pass 
through  the  town.  It  was  Corpus-Christi  day;  the 
main  street,  the  Calle  de  Sierpes,  or  Serpent  Street, 
was  decorated  with  statues,  flags,  and  evergreens,  and 
divided  curiously  into  sunlight  and  shade,  the  effect  of 
great  canvases,  which  had  been  stretched  from  house 
to  house  across  the  street.  This  main  road  has  all 
sorts  of  side-streets,  twists  and  turns,  and  wherever 
the  sun,  warded  off,  as  a  rule,  by  the  canvases,  found 
a  hole  or  an  opening,  it  seemed  suddenly  to  shoot 
dow^n  and  bathe  the  bustle  that  reigned  there  in  a 
shrill  and  motley  confusion  of  light. 

The  whole  town  was  decorated.  In  the  cafes,  all 
of  which  were  open,  people  danced  and  sang,  and  it 
was  difficult  for  a  foreigner  to  believe  that  this  was 
the  prelude  to  a  festival  of  the  Church.  When  we 
returned  to  our  hotel,  where  we  had  merely  de- 
posited our  luggage,  so  as  to  be  able  immediately  to 
satisfy  our  curiosity,  we  were  despatched  to  a  neigh- 
bouring house  belonging  to  the  hotel,  as  here  every 
room  was  occupied. 

An  Alhambra-like  building  housed  us  at  Seville. 
A  wide  staircase,  with  little  thin,  Moorish  pillars,  led 
from  \ht patio  to  the  long  gallery:  it  was  all  in  white 
marble,  or  at  least  seemed  to  be  so,  imitating  the 
luxurious  style  of  the  Arabesque  lace-w^ork  ornamenta- 
tion. When  I  returned  in  the  evening  from  walking, 
and  the  moon  cast  her  pale  bluish  rays  over  the 
mysterious  palace,  I  felt  like  a  sultan  and  sought  for 
a  Scheherazade  to  send  me  to  sleep  with  wondrous 
fairy-tales.  Alas,  when  I  got  upstairs,  all  I  saw  was 
an  old  wife,  whose  wisps  of  grey  hair  came  straggling 
from  under  her  cap,  while  a  long  dark  shawl  covered 


92 


SEVILLE 


her  bare  breast  and  arms.  In  a  sleepy  voice  she  asked 
me  if  I  required  anything  before  going  to  bed,  and  I 
made  for  my  room  with  the  listless  steps  of  any 
ordinary  traveller  looking  for  the  number  of  his 
apartment. 

Now  came  the  morning  of  the  Corpus-Christi  pro- 
cession. Through  the  busy,  sunny  streets  moved  a 
festive  throng,  and  speedily,  following  the  crowd,  we 
came  to  the  church  from  which  the  pageant  was  to 
start.  Long  rows  of  chairs  had  been  placed  in  the 
square  before  the  church,  and  we  looked  for  seats. 
Oh,  the  heat  of  the  sun  !  Quick  to  the  shady  side ; 
but  everything  was  occupied.  I  can  still  feel  the  sun 
burning  in  my  neck  ;  but  when  the  mind  is  excited,  the 
body  can  endure  much.  The  many  changing  groups 
of  sight-seers  soon  began  to  interest  us,  and  we  sat 
patiently  waiting  for  what  was  to  issue  forth  from  the 
great  old  cathedral-porch.  The  broad  pathway  that 
was  kept  clear  between  the  rows  of  chairs  was 
strewn  with  fragrant  green  branches ;  from  it  rose  a 
delightful  scent  of  open  air. 

In  front  of  the  church  stood  a  whole  regiment  of 
soldiers,  two  and  two,  unarmed  and  bareheaded,  the 
officer  in  command  likewise;  but  rising  above  the 
throng  that  bustled  around  us,  sat  gorgeous  horsemen 
mounted  on  their  tall  steeds,  and  furnished  with  long 
silver  trumpets.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  people 
crowded  round;  but  there  was  no  shouting  or  noise 
of  any  kind  :  people  whispered  and  went  their  way. 
Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken,  the  trumpets  sounded 
and  the  great  doors  of  the  cathedral  opened  slowly. 
Calmly,  with  a  stately  step,  the  soldiers  marched  along 
the    fragrant    pathway,    followed    immediately    by    a 


t 


i 


1 


SEVILLE 


93 


number  of  gentlemen,  bareheaded,  in  black,  members 
of  the  City  Council,  we  were  told.  The  Mayor,  who 
led  the  way,  was  recognizable  by  a  broad  red  sash 
which  he  wore  across  his  breast. 

These  Spanish  city-councillors,  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  were  no  more  picturesque  than  our  Dutch  ones 
at  home,  but  what  followed  was  genuinely  Spanish, 
and  possibly  to  be  found  nowhere  save  in  Andalusia. 
Walking  two  and  two,  came  little  boys  of  five  or  six 
years  old,  all  dressed  in  light  satin  jackets,  with  white 
satin  knee-breeches,  w^hite  silk  stockings,  and  white 
satin  shoes.  Each  held  in  one  hand  a  little  nosegay 
of  roses  and  smaller  flowers,  and  in  the  other  a  small 
lighted  taper;  and  not  ten,  not  fifty,  but  some  hun- 
dreds of  these  little  squires  passed  by  the  bowing 
crow^d.  It  was  like  a  vision  of  angels  ;  the  wings  alone 
were  wanting.  Moving  softly  over  the  fragrant  ever- 
greens, their  brown  faces  glowing  with  health,  that 
earnest  look  in  their  eyes  which  none  but  children  can 
attain,  decked  with  flowers  and  smiled  upon  by  the 
friendly  throng,  they  formed  a  picture  of  what  we  are 
told  of  the  holy  innocents  in  Heaven.  There  followed 
music,  but  we  did  not  look  at  the  musicians,  for  very 
different  figures  come  into  view.  These  were  the  canons 
of  the  diocese,  and  a  richly-coloured  canopy  was  borne 
over  their  heads.  Each  of  these  gentlemen,  indeed, 
resembled  a  cathedral  in  himself.  Tall  of  stature,  their 
chests  thrown  out,  proudly  they  stepped  along,  some 
clad  in  stately  clerical  black,  others  in  splendid  vest- 
ments, carrying  mysteries  and  relics  concealed  in  costly 
caskets.  Full  of  character  were  their  heads,  their 
haughty  visages,  such  as  those  which  Leonardo  jotted 
down  in  his  Venetian  sketch-book ;  eyes  set  deep  in 


i 


:)iiri 


94 


SEVILLE 


the  heavily-furrowed  brows,  large  hooked  noses,  upper- 
lips  contracted,  but  the  proud  under-lip  jutting  out 
wide,  and  square  fleshy  cheeks,  forming  numerous 
chins.  These  were  the  giants  who  walked  in  the 
children's  footsteps.  Acolytes  slung  censers  around 
them,  and  the  pious  multitude  crossed  itself  as  they 
passed. 

The  crush  behind  us  increased :  triumphal  cars 
came  into  view,  drawn  not  by  horses  or  mules,  but  by 
hundreds  of  men  and  women  of  all  ages.  The  most 
fervent  of  the  parishioners  took  part  in  this  pious 
labour.  The  cars  were  as  gardens  of  flowers  and 
stately  plants,  with  waving  palms  and  graceful  ferns, 
amid  w^iich  sat  the  saints,  represented  by  great  marble 
and  silver  statues,  decked  in  colours  of  blue  and  gold 
and  jewels.  Moved  by  the  oscillation  of  the  cars, 
these  objects  seemed  to  quiver  and  tremble  as  they 
passed.  One  of  the  statues  had  an  outstretched  hand, 
which,  as  it  approached  me,  seemed  to  motion  me 
away  as  a  heretic. 

Now  it  appeared  to  me  as  though  everything  about 
me  became  suddenly  inaudible ;  there  came  a  great 
silence;  I  heard  the  sighing  of  the  wind  that  cooled  our 
heads.  Then  rang  out  the  familiar  silver  mass-bell, 
and  all  those  about  me,  and  I  too,  lay  kneeling  with 
our  heads  to  the  ground.  One  heard  nothing  but  the 
cracking  of  the  footsteps  over  the  palm-strewn  ground  ; 
prayers  were  muttered  around  me,  the  sign  of  the  cross 
was  three  times  repeated  ;  then  I  raised  my  head  and 
overlooked  the  motley  kneeling  crowd,  the  black-haired 
heads,  the  bald  skulls,  children  and  women  nestling 
together,  smart  clothes  and  ragged  clothes  in  confusion 
on  the  ground  ;  and  above  all  this  I  saw  a  pair  of  arms 


SEVILLE 


95 


upraised  which  carried  the  Body  of  Christ  in  a  splendid 
monstrance  above  our  heads.  Then  again  the  great 
trumpets  of  the  cavalry  behind  us  rang  out  in  a  tri- 
umphant blast.  All  rose  to  their  feet  and  looked 
around.  The  Body  of  Christ  was  far  away  and  out 
of  sight,  and  from  our  seats  we  witnessed  the  rest  of 
the  procession  as  it  issued  from  the  cathedral. 


It  was  as  though  the  agony  of  the  Crucified  had 
an  after-effect,  for  all  that  followed  w^as  suffering  and 
sadness.  Bare-footed  friars  marched  in  great  numbers. 
Compared  with  those  w^ho  had  gone  before,  they  were 
covered  with  dust  and  ashes.  Tall,  lean,  tragic  figures, 
they  seemed  to  have  been  hunted  out  of  their  cells  to 
take  part  in  the  procession  ;  it  was  as  though  they  had 


96 


SEVILLE 


!| 


come  to  protest  against  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  the  gorgeous  vestments  and  triumphal  crowns,  all 
the   prosperity   of  the   surrounding   populace,   and    to 
express  their  contempt    for   all    luxury,  pleasure,   and 
worldly  contentment.     A  thick  brown  frock  was  their 
garment  ;    bare   were    their   shaven    heads,    bare    their 
breasts,  naked  their  feet ;  their  eyes  stared  into  the  far 
infinite,  without  concerning  themselves  with  what  took 
place    around    them.      Almost   ev^ery   figure   made   its 
impression  upon  me ;  but  two  of  these  men  remained 
particularly    in    my   thoughts.     They  walked    side   by 
side,  and  thus  drew  my  attention  the  more :  one  was 
a  young  man  of  about  twenty  summers,  the  other  a 
venerable  old  man,  moving  along  with  difficulty.     The 
young  man  was  tall  and  finely  built ;  his  shaven  head, 
with  its  fringe  of  short  brown  hair,  was  well  set  upon 
his  firm  neck.     As  he  passed  us,  his  eyes  were  turned 
on  high,  great  brown  eyes,  which  were  made  to  seem 
too  large  through  the  emaciation  of  his  features.     Was 
it  my  imagination  that  caused  me  to  see  tears  rolling 
down    his    cheeks?      His    long,    slender    hands    were 
tightly  folded   over  his    breast.     The  old   grey  monk 
was    bent,   and    his  chest    panted  with    his   exertions. 
Coughing  and  moaning,  he  hurried   on  in   his  efforts 
to  keep  up  with  his  companion  ;  his  feet  were  bound  in 
ligatures,  which  dragged  behind  him,  and  his  pale  lips 
kissed  continuously  a  large  silver  cross,  fastened  round 
his  neck  by  a  cord,  and  held  in  his  emaciated  hands. 
They  were  all    figures   tempting  one    to  sketch   them 
forthwith,  full  of  character  in  pose  and  gesture ;  never 
had   I   seen    so  many  monks  together,    displaying   so 
clearly,   in   contrast  with   everyday   life,   the   signs   of 
cloistered  seclusion. 


SEVILLE 


97 


I 


We  sat  closely  watching  the  passing  multitude,  and 
did  not  notice  that  a  conspiracy  was  on  foot  in  the  high 
heavens  against  the  faithful  below.     Dark  clouds  had 
long  been  gathering  overhead  ;   suddenly  a  lightning- 
flash  flickered  through  the  sky,  then  another,  followed 
by  a  loud  burst  of  thunder  and  a  torrent  of  rain.     All 
fled,  none  knew  where;   we  galloped  on   like  all   the 
rest,   the  cavalry-men,  the  monks,  the  banner-bearers, 
and  did  not  stop  until  we  were  safe  beneath  the  roof 
of  our  fonda.     What  had   become  of  the  procession, 
of  all  the  crowd?     As  to  ourselves,  we  were  mainly 
occupied    in    changing    into   dry   clothes,    ordering  a 
glass  of  manzanilla,  and  cigarettes,  cigarettes  for  ever. 
Our   padrone    entered,    shaking    the    water    from    his 
clothes. 

''No  es  nada,  seFwres,  no  cs  nada^'  he  cried,  and 
pointed  to  the  dripping  window:  the  clouds  were 
entirely  broken  up,  and  indeed,  within  half-an-hour, 
there  it  was  again,  the  glorious,  tremendous  tyrant  of 
Spain,  the  glittering  sun.  How  splendidly  it  shone 
that  afternoon  upon  the  pink  and  pale-green  Guadal- 
quivir, casting  dark-blue  shadows  between  the  hills 
and  rocks  which  edge  the  flowing  river.  A  broad 
bridge  crosses  it,  and  connects  the  city  of  Seville  with 
its  suburbs.  On  this  bridge  we  lay  baking  in  the 
sun  like  real  lazzaroni,  for  the  bridge  offers  spacious 
marble  benches  to  the  wayfarer,  on  which  he  can 
stretch  himself  unheeded  by  all. 

Oh,  the  glory  of  the  South!  The  air  breathed 
out  warmth  and  freshness,  the  water  rippled  slowly 
rustling  through  its  deep  bed,  swallows  circled  above 
our  heads  and  nestled  in  the  cypress-wood  which 
grew    some    distance    away    along    the    bank.      Lying 


N 


\t 


98 


SEVILLE 


upon  my  back,  1  stared  up  at  rosy  clouds  in  the 
azure  sky,  now  and  then  dissolving  in  space,  or 
adorning  themselves  with  narrow  edges  of  gold,  and 
drifting,  drifting  far  out  of  sight!  Ah,  the  pity 
that  one  cannot  always  lie  so,  dreaming  in  waking 
for  all   infinity! 


fi'iir 


'J 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 

oPAIN  is  the  country  />ar  excellence  in  which  the 
Church  encourages  the  celebration  of  anniversaries,  of 
joyful  and  mournful  occasions  in  the  history  of  the 
country  and  the  people.  The  Church  enters  into  the 
life  of  every  household.  When  a  new  citizen  is  born 
into  the  world,  when  any  one  dies  or  when  the  anniver- 
sary of  a  death  occurs,  on  the  occasion  of  weddings 
or  other  festivals,  the  Church  takes  care  that  alms  are 
distributed,  that  prayers  are  duly  offered,  that  every- 
thing is  done  which  the  family  should  do  upon  such 
an  occasion. 

We  heard  that  a  special  vesper  service  was  to  be 
held  in  the  Cathedral,  in  honour  of  an  annual  com- 
memoration, and  that  dancing  would  take  place  to  the 
castagnettes  in  the  presence  of  the  resident  Cardinal. 
We  had  already  witnessed  an  ample  number  of  eccle- 
siastical ceremonies,  and  my  travelling-companions 
preferred  to  take  a  walk  along  the  banks  of  the 
Guadalquivir,  and  arranged  to  await  me  at  the 
entrance  after  the  ceremony.  For  myself,  I  wished 
to  hear  and  see  everything  that  Spain  had  to  offer 
of  a  characteristic  nature,  and  I  was  well  rewarded  for 
my  trouble. 

The  nave  of  the  church  was  full  of  people  when 
I    arrived.     Ladies   and  gentlemen    in  summer   dress 

99 


100 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


i 


greeted  each  other  with  lively  civility  :  one  could  see 
that  curiosity  had  won  a  victory  over  piety.  The  pric- 
dieux  had  been  pushed  aside,  and  a  wide  space  cleared 
between  the  high  altar  and  the  choir.  The  sun  shone 
with  its  broad,  warm  noonday  beams  through  the 
lofty,  richly-coloured  windows,  and  tinged  all  heads 
and  costumes  with  a  peculiarly  effective  glow.  All  sat 
or  stood  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  central  aisle, 
which  was  kept  clear  by  church  officials  bearing  silver 
chains  and  tall  drum-major's  canes,  figures  of  self- 
conscious  indispensability.  The  long,  tall  candles 
burned  upon  the  altar ;  flowers  lay  over  the  em- 
broidered altar-cloths ;  the  scent  of  wax  and  incense 
rose  on  high.  Before  the  altar  knelt  the  Cardinal,  in 
his  red  robes,  while  a  row  of  acolytes  and  choristers 
stood  on  either  side  of  him.  They  were  delightful  to 
look  upon,  in  their  white  red-embroidered  surplices, 
with  their  fresh,  clear-cut  features,  and  their  black  hair 
cut  short  over  their  foreheads.  One  carried  a  great 
gold-clasped  book,  another  a  smoking  censer,  a  third 
a  large  jewelled  crucifix.  The  kneeling  scarlet  figure, 
illumined  by  the  surrounding  wax-candles,  and  the 
choir-boys  standing  around  him  like  a  staff,  combined 
to  form  a  real  Spanish  picture,  rich  and  warm.  I  had 
time  to  take  all  this  in  amid  the  whispering  silence 
and  the  movement,  hushed  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
father  in  the  pulpit,  who  delivered  an  oration  to  which 
no  one  listened,  for  the  end  of  which  every  one 
longed. 

At  last  the  small,  wizen-faced  man  closed  his  note- 
book, the  sermon  was  over,  and  he  contentedly  de- 
scended the  pulpit  stair.  The  Cardinal  rose  from  his 
kneeling  posture,  and  his  tall  stature,  as  he  stood  erect 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


lOI 


in  his  robes,  commanded  the  whole  assemblage.  He 
wore  a  white  skull-cap  on  his  brown  head,  and  carried 
his  red  hat  under  his  arm.  The  congregation  rose  to 
their  feet  and  ranged  themselves  along  the  central  aisle, 
from  which  my  nostrils  were  again  greeted  by  the 
fragrance  of  pine-branches  and  mignonette. 

With  a  stately  tread  the  Cardinal  descended  the 
altar  steps,  preceded  by  four  of  the  tallest  acolytes  and 
followed  by  all  the  rest.  These  included  one  or  two 
comically  small  ones,  and  I  counted  eighteen  in  all. 
Slowly,  with  solemn  steps,  the  way  was  covered  to  the 
choir  ;  here  the  Cardinal  sat  down  in  a  large  arm-chair, 
and  the  acolytes  took  up  their  positions  in  a  wide  circle 
on  either  side.  Then  one  of  the  taller  ones  raised  his 
arm  as  a  signal,  and  the  singing  began.  A  sweet 
singing  of  children's  voices,  delicate  and  simple;  it 
echoed  through  this  great  church,  generally  filled  with 
the  groaning  of  the  heavy  organ,  as  something  fresh 
and  new,  as  a  sound  of  early  morning,  as  a  message 
from  afar.  Now  came  the  clicking  of  the  castagnettes, 
and  a  stately  minuet  w^as  danced  around  the  central 
figure.  The  Cardinal  had  donned  his  hat,  and  watched 
the  children  dancing  around  him  with  a  kindly  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes,  and  his  tapering  hands  crossed  upon 
his  breast.  It  was  a  charming  picture  to  see  the  merry, 
elegantly-clad  children  dancing  in  a  row,  singing, 
weaving  their  castagnettes  as  they  formed  a  circle,  with 
the  stately,  scarlet  Cardinal  in  their  midst :  all  this  set 
amid  the  handsome  architecture  of  the  Cathedral.  But 
now  the  organ  struck  in,  filling  everything  with  its 
deep  tones  ;  the  Cardinal  and  his  suite  left  the  choir 
and  entered  the  sacristy,  and  the  ceremony  was  over. 

Not  for  me,  however,  for  I  had  read,  above  one  of 


^ 


g 


II 


I02 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


the  smaller  exits:  ''After  the  ceremony  the  relics  may 
be  visited."  Leaving  the  stream  of  the  departing 
crowd,  I  made  my  way  with  a  few  provincials  and 
foreigners  to  the  little  door  in  question.  I  passed 
along  a  corridor,  painted  black,  to  a  large  and  ordinary 
room,  lighted  by  a  big  window,  opposite  which  stood  a 
great  oaken  cupboard,  taking  up  the  whole  wall,  whose 
massive  doors  stood  wide  open.  Within  gleamed  and 
glittered  all  kinds  of  objects  whose  use  was  unknown 
to  me.  Arranged  along  the  shelves  stood  strangely- 
shaped  boxes,  curious  goblets,  monstrances,  and  a 
number  of  little  chests,  long,  high,  round,  and  square, 
all  beautifully  inlaid  with  precious  stones. 

We  all  gathered  before  the  cupboard.  A  monk 
holding  a  long  wand  sat  awaiting  us,  and  on  the 
opposite  side  sat  one  of  the  choir-boys,  who  held  a 
heavy  vellum  book  upon  his  knees,  and  leaning  over 
it,  began  to  read  in  a  loud  voice : 

''In  este  cofrecito,  in  this  casket  are  preserved  the 
bones  of  St.  Jerome." 

While  he  spoke  the  monk  pointed  to  the  object 
referred  to  with  his  cane. 

''  In  estc  otro^^  continued  the  lad,  "in  the  other  is 
the  girdle  of  St.  Veronica." 

In  this  way  everything  was  described,  while  the 
long  wand  pointed  to  the  spot  where  these  mouldering 
objects  were  preserved  in  their  splendid  coverings. 

While  in  church,  I  had  already  been  sensible  of  a 
terrible  din  of  bells  ;  but  when  I  reached  the  outside, 
w^here  my  friends  were  impatiently  awaiting  me,  I  was 
grasped  by  the  arm  and  dragged  hurriedly  away,  for  the 
deafening  sound  of  the  huge  bells  made  it  impossible 
for  us  to  remain  an  instant  where  we  were.     This  is  the 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


103 


custom  at  the  conclusion  of  the  evening  services  at 
Seville,  but  never  in  my  life  had  I  heard  such  an  ear- 
splitting  and  sense-deadening  noise  as  this.  I  just 
looked  round,  much  as  one  looks  round  at  an  enemy  who 
pursues  one,  and  I  then  saw  that,  w^hen  rung,  the  bells 
of  the  Giralda  are  hurled  outside  the  steeple  through 
openings  made  for  the  purpose,  so  that  the  sound  is 
not  confined  within  the  steeple,  but  clamours  loudly 
without  over  the  heads  of  the  retreating  parishioners. 
We  rushed  down  the  steps,  across  the  square,  and  up 
the  street,  until  the  awful  clatter  could  no  longer  reach 
us  and  we  were  enabled  to  draw  breath  in  peace. 

Seville  is  a  most  pleasant  town  to  walk  in,  pictur- 
esque with  its  narrow  streets  filled  with  large  w^indows 
and  balconies,  so  close  together,  sometimes,  that  the 
neighbours  are  easily  able  to  laugh  and  argue  with 
one  another,  and  to  reach  portions  of  their  dinners 
to  each  other.  The  little  squares  are  almost  always 
furnished  with  small  caravans  of  mules,  which  stand 
about  picturesquely  or  squat  down  beside  their  paniers, 
with  the  driver  sleeping  sociably  on  the  ground  amidst 
his  four-footed  underlings. 

But  what  is  particularly  interesting  at  Seville  is 
the  houses  of  the  well-to-do  residents.  These  at  once 
attract  your  attention,  and  you  involuntarily  give  an 
inquisitive  glance  in  their  direction  as  you  pass.  They 
are  not  really  private  houses,  for  there  is  always  a 
garden  in  front  of  them,  surrounded  by  an  elegant 
railing.  I  had  determined  to  call  upon  no  friends  or 
acquaintances  during  my  journey,  as  this  often  gives 
rise  to  tiresome  delays,  as  now  appeared.  Neverthe- 
less there  was  no  other  means  of  seeing  one  of  these 
private    houses,    and    I    remembered    that    in    Seville 


I04 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


105 


lived  a  young  and  famous  painter  who  had  sent  me 
a  greeting-  from  Spain  on  my  seventieth  birthday. 
We  accordingly  decided  to  visit  him.  We  rang  at 
the  gate,  which  was  opened  by  a  stately  7najor-doiuo, 
who  showed  us  to  seats  on  two  marble  benches  stand- 
ing within  the  entrance  of  the  patio  or  court-yard. 
Soon  our  new  friend  appeared,  welcomed  us  with 
outstretched  arms,  and  expressed  his  delight  at  making 
our  acquaintance  and  at  the  honour  we  had  done  his 
country  by  our  visit.  In  reply  to  his  inquiry  as  to 
what  he  could  do  for  us,  I  said  : 

"Your  kindness  in  receiving  us  is  just  what  we 
wanted,  for  we  are  anxious  to  look  over  one  of  the 
charming  Seville  houses  which  look  so  attractive  from 
the  outside ;  and  I  must  say  that  it  seems  here  as 
though  one  were  in  the  world  purely  for  one's 
pleasure." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "  Wi^^t  patios  are  the  handsomest 
and  best  parts  of  our  houses.  Everything  is  always 
carefully  kept,  the  flower-beds,  the  benches,  the  painted 
walls  ;  it  rains  very  seldom,  and  this  fountain  " — here 
he  pressed  a  knob — "gives  a  pleasant  and  refreshing 
stream  at  night,  for  it  is  terribly  hot  at  times."  He 
pulled  forward  some  copper  pipes  with  lamps  at  the 
end  of  them.  "  In  the  evenings  we  light  up,  although 
we  often  receive  our  friends  by  moonlight ;  then  the 
patio  becomes  our  drawing-room,  we  have  music  out 
here,  or  play  cards,  or,  in  our  Spanish  fashion,  sit, 
with  big  glasses  of  water  before  us,  for  hours  discuss- 
ing what  concerns  us  painters  so  little :  politics.  Over 
here,  you  see,  beneath  this  colonnade,  is  a  verandah, 
where  everything  is  arranged  for  comfort.  Here  hang 
a  few  old  and  tolerable  paintings  ;  there  is  the  piano. 


\ 


the  writing-table;  and  if  you  will  look  up  you  will  see 
the  bed-rooms,  which  all  look  out  with  open  doors  and 
windows  upon  the  verandah,  so  that  the  conversation  is 
sometimes  kept  up  till  late  at  night  between  those  who 
have  retired  to  bed  and  the  others  who  remain  below." 

Our  host  was  a  good-looking  young  man  of  a  real 
southern  type.  Tall  of  stature,  with  a  finely-cut  pale 
face,  and  eyes  w^ith  the  wide  lids  which  lend  a  certain 
melancholy  to  the  dark  eye-brows.  His  long  and 
elegant  mustachios  covered  a  broad,  w^arm  mouth,  and 
met  a  short,  pointed  beard  which  adorned  his  square 
chin.  He  was  dressed  to  go  out,  and  invited  us  to 
visit  his  studio,  which  lay  at  some  distance  from  the 
town.  A  fine  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  broad- 
backed  Andalusian  horses,  awaited  us,  and  we  drove 
out  of  town. 

O  Holland,  Holland  !  thought  I,  during  the  drive, 
what  a  much  more  pleasant  place  you  are  for  an  ex- 
cursion of  this  sort  than  these  great  countries  where  a 
few  miles  of  ground  make  so  little  difference.  I  com- 
pared this  expedition  with  the  charming  drive  along 
the  Amstel  to  the  Kalfje,  or  from  the  Hague,  through 
Rijswijk,  to  Delft;  what  a  wealth  of  trees,  pastures, 
and  water!  Here  all  was  arid,  blistered  by  the  sun, 
nothing  but  great  heaps  of  yellow  grass  growing 
against  walls  over  which  one  could  see  nothing — no 
lines,  no  perspective.  Fortunately  we  soon  reached  a 
pretty  villa,  containing  the  studio  and  a  stable  for  the 
horses. 

The  young  maestro  showed  us  all  the  work  he  had 
in  hand,  and  invited  our  opinions  on  a  big  painting  re- 
presenting a  Spanish  popular  festival,  destined  for  the 
next  Paris  Salon.     Many  cigarettes  and  artistic  theories 


o 


io6 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


107 


were  puffed  into  nothingness,  and  when  we  took  our 
leave  it  was  arranged  that  we  should  all  meet  that 
evening  in  the  Cafe  Suizo  in  the  main  street,  the  Calle 
del  Sierpes.  I  then  saw  that  my  dread  of  friendly 
attentions  had  not  been  without  foundation. 

When  we  entered  the  Cafe  Suizo  we  found  our 
friend  awaiting  us,  with  by  his  side  a  portly  gentleman 
with  a  most  pleasant  curly  beard  around  his  fat  Sancho- 
Panza  cheeks,  and  a  great  broom  of  grey  hair  which 
covered  the  greater  part  of  his  forehead.  His  little 
grey  eyes  winked  as  he  greeted  us,  and  his  big, 
laughing  mouth  bade  us  welcome  to  Spain.  He  ad- 
dressed us  in  French,  which  gradually  drifted  into 
Spanish  : 

'*  Moi  r  I  10  J  incur  d'etre  prdsidejit  de  la  Sociedad 
Pic t oral  de  ScvillaT 

He  had  come  here  to  bring  me  an  invitation  in  the 
name  of  the  painters'  club ;  I  was  to  fix  my  own  day 
and  hour,  and  a  feast  would  be  arranged  for  us.  How- 
ever delightedly  I  would  have  welcomed  this  thirty 
years  earlier,  I  now  declared,  with  many  polite  expres- 
sions, that,  greatly  as  I  valued  his  invitation,  our  time 
was  up,  and  that  we  were  leaving  Seville  on  the  morrow. 
I  doubt  whether  my  Spanish  friends  took  this  misad- 
venture any  more  to  heart  than  we  did  ;  and  after  a 
polite  leave-taking,  we  made  our  way  through  the  crowd 
and  returned  safely  to  our  Alhambra. 

The  evening  was  clear  and  sultry,  and  we  ordered 
our  dinner  at  a  little  cafe  or  pastry-cook's  shop,  of 
which  there  are  many  in  the  better  quarters,  after  which 
we  strolled  into  the  town  in  search  of  adventure. 
Seville  contains  numbers  of  fine  shops  and  resplendent 
cafes,  but  these  were  in  no  way  enjoyable  or  interesting 


I 


\ 


to  us.  The  slums  and  the  various  popular  quarters 
were  more  to  our  taste.  A  little  door  in  the  distance, 
through  which  we  could  see  a  light  burning,  attracted 
our  attention,  and  we  heard  the  music  of  a  Spanish 
barrel-organ,  which  twangs  and  moans  like  a  guitar 
and  concerting  in  one.  It  was  a  ball,  for  as  we  ap- 
proached we  saw  the  advertisement  at  the  entrance, 
which  was  closed  by  little  muslin  curtains.  On  either 
side  was  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  adorned  with 
flowers  and  branches  of  laurel,  and  lighted  by  a  col- 
lection of  little  wax  candles.  This  was  a  peculiarly 
Spanish  decoration  for  an  occasion  of  this  kind,  but 
its  poverty  and  naivete  attracted  us  marvellously  and 
tempted  us  in. 

We  entered  a  great  space,  open  to  the  sky  and  the 
stars  above ;  paper  lanterns  of  divers  colours  were 
hung  here  and  there,  and  a  stair-case  led  to  a  sur- 
rounding gallery.  At  first  everything  seemed  much 
too  dark,  but  gradually  our  eyes  grew  accustomed  to 
this.  In  the  middle  sat  a  small,  hunchbacked  man, 
turning  the  handle  of  a  clear-toned,  tinkling  barrel- 
organ,  and  at  the  same  time  acting  as  master  of  cere- 
monies, for  with  shouts  and  cries  he  brought  the  dancers 
together  or  sent  them  asunder  again.  On  considering 
the  company,  we  discovered  that  we  had  lighted  on 
rather  low  ground  ;  but  when  we  had  once  entered,  and 
found  ourselves  surrounded  by  music  and  dancing,  our 
curiosity  impelled  us  to  stay.  We  had  looked  on  but 
a  few  minutes,  however,  when  we  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  proprietor ;  three  chairs  were  placed  for  us  in 
the  middle  of  one  of  the  walls,  and  there  we  sat,  like 
the  king  and  queen  on  the  stage,  who  look  on  while 
the  ballet  is  danced  before  them. 


io8 


CHURCH    FESTIVALS 


Next  came  the  interval  ;  the  organ  ceased,  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  separated,  and  we  were  thinking  of  leav- 
ing, when  I  saw  a  chair  being  approached  to  mine,  and 
one  of  the  ladies  sat  down  beside  me,  in  a  fascinating" 
attitude,  and  offered  me  a  flower  from  the  nosegay  that 
adorned  her  breast.  At  the  same  time  she  asked  me, 
with  a  very  roguish  air,  if  I  would  not  dance  a  round 
with  her  presently.  My  friends  too  were  surprised  by 
each  receiving  a  lady  to  talk  to,  and  the  restaurateur, 
as  though  we  had  ordered  it,  placed  a  table  before  us, 
on  which  was  a  great  earthenware  bowl  of  mulled  wine, 
with  glasses  and  spoons.  There  we  sat  like  old  friends, 
talking  little  and  laughing  much  ;  for  our  fair  temp- 
tresses did  not  understand  a  word  of  our  Spanish,  and 
derived  endless  amusement  from  our  shyness  and  our 
foreign  behaviour.  Nor  were  some  of  the  men  behind- 
hand in  taking  up  a  glass  and  drinking  to  our  pros- 
perous journey,  and  we  began  to  see  that  the  intention 
was  to  have  a  good  time  at  our  expense.  In  Spain, 
however,  nothing  costs  more  than  a  few  pesetas,  and 
we  allowed  our  friends  to  drink  their  fill.  The  wine 
and  the  general  merriment  worked  so  well  that  I 
believe  we  found  ourselves  walking  round  with  our 
ladies,  arm-in-arm,  and  telling  each  other  all  kinds 
of  pretty  things.  My  travelling-companions  sang  and 
danced  with  the  rest  ;  and  there  was  much  joyful 
kissing  and  embracing  when  we  left.  It  had  grown 
very  late,  and  we  set  out  recklessly  in  the  dark  night 
to  wander  through  the  unknown  streets  of  Seville  in 
search  of  our  hotel ;  but  the  god  of  topers  protected  us, 
and  we  arrived  safe  and  sound  at  our  destination. 


MURILLO 

\J  SACRED  Murillo,  how  hard  I  stood  staring  at  your 
master-pieces  on  the  morning  after  that  warm  night,  try- 
ing to  explain  to  myself  why  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  like  you  and  your  work.  In  the  Prado  I  refused 
to  witness  your  rout  before  the  victorious  Velasquez. 
But  here,  in  the  museum  at  Seville,  you  enjoy  the 
upper  hand.  The  whole  side  wall  is  full  of  your 
sacrosanct  canvases ;  your  native  city  has  done  its 
utmost  to  honour  you,  and  yet  what  emptiness  in  all 
this  fulness,  empty  through  monotony.  You  are  too 
sweet  for  my  taste,  like  pastry  that  contains  too  much 
sugar.  I  should  say  that  there  is  no  real  style  in  your 
work,  neither  the  elegant,  royal  style  of  Velasquez  nor 
the  rugged  style  of  Ribera:  with  you  everything  is 
smooth  and  nice  in  colour  and  form. 

When  Michael  Angelo  draws  a  finger  upon  a  piece  of 
paper,  it  is  a  finger  which  he  has  discovered  ;  Rubens, 
with  a  single  turn,  a  single  smudge  of  his  brush, 
betrays  his  character  and  the  idiosyncrasy  of  his  talent. 
With  you,  on  the  other  hand,  this  is  replaced  by  an 
uniformity  of  execution  that  gives  one  nothing  to  take 
hold  of:  always  the  same  colour-scheme,  the  same 
treatment,  which  makes  everything  soft  and  smooth. 
Dare  I  call  you  the  painter  of  pious  insipidity?     And 

yet  your  works  will  always  be  compared  with  those  of 

109 


I  lO 


MURILLO 


the  other  great  Spaniards,  for  your  work  is  fine:  large 
canvases  fill  the  walls  of  churches  and  palaces  with 
pleasant  compositions,  full  of  nice  colours,  and  they 
have  not  the  irritating  qualities  of  doll-like  character- 
pieces,  with  which  you  have  nothing  to  do. 

Thus  1  mused  in  my  own  mind  as  I  walked  round 
the  museum  ;  but  when  I  had  gone  a  little  further,  I 
stood  still  again. 

*'Come  here,"  I  cried  to  my  companions.  ''What 
an  ugly  picture,  and  yet  how  fine  it  is  !  " 

My  paradox  did  not  put  them  off;  I  saw  by  their 
expressions  that  they  were  as  much  struck  as  I. 
Morales  was  the  painter's  name,  a  name  which  we 
do  not  know  much  of.  I  had  seen  something  of  his 
in  Madrid.  Morales  is  the  direct  opposite  of  the 
pleasing  Murillo.  Me  is  black,  and  grey;  the  colour 
is  no  colour,  a  tone,  rather,  of  greenish  blue-grey, 
but  ....  what  feeling,  what  character,  all  brought  in 
to  express  the  great  tragedy  of  the  dead  Son  lying  in 
his  Mother's  lap.  Mary  looks  a  simple  little  being, 
yet  a  being,  a  woman  ;  she  looks  at  you  with  a 
compassionate,  pitiful  face,  and  bends  her  small, 
emaciated  head  over  the  features  of  the  expired  Christ.' 
This  painting  contains  all  that  Murillo  lacks:  sim- 
plicity and  seriousness,  while  all  pomp  of  artisticity 
is  banished. 

Why  will  people  always  insist  upon  having  paint- 
ings as  furniture  for  drawing-rooms,  galleries,  churches 
or  public  buildings  ?  Now  we  even  have  the  modern 
idea  that  the  picture  must  play  its  part  in  the  general 
art  of  the  building;  it  must  play  its  part.  And  you, 
my  poor  Morales,  are  fit  for  nothing;  you  are  not 
decorative.     Yet  I  should  like  to  take  your  work  with 


MURILLO 


# 


III 


I 


me  to  my  little  back  study ;  I  would  not  hang  it  up, 
I  would  set  it  with  its  face  to  the  wall,  and  in  those 
moments  when  one  prefers  to  be  alone,  when  one 
reflects  in  silence  and  is  weary  of  the  world  outside, 
I  should  put  your  work  down  in  front  of  me,  and 
it  would  console  me  to  feel  the  contact  of  a  mind 
which  feels  and  thinks  with  mine  and  raises  sorrow 
to  the  level  of  that  mysterious  thing  which  we  call 
poetry. 


« 


AFRICA 


113 


•    .     j^   ^^ -^^^, .  ■ 


--•e-^^;;••■*«f;--i,^  ^ 


AFRICA 


1  HE  train  takes  some  tedious  hours  to  carry  you  to 
Cadiz,  in  the  extreme  south  of  Spain  ;  the  road  assumes 
an  increasingly  southern  character,  and  is  already  to  a 
certain  extent  African.  The  houses  are  all  built  for 
the  open  air,  and  often  show  nothing  but  white  walls. 
From  time  to  time  you  are  surprised  by  the  sight  of 


men  and  beasts  bearing  the  dark  marks  of  southern 
latitudes. 

Before  our  hotel  at  Cadiz,  which  had  been  recom- 
mended to  us  as  the  best,  negroes  and  porters  seemed  to 
be  fighting  a  battle.  They  tore  trunks,  parcels  and  gar- 
ments from  each  other  s  hands,  and  rushed  in  and  out 
of  the  door,  with  shouts  and  imprecations.  At  last  a 
gentleman  entered,  placed  himself  in  their  midst,  and 
commanded  peace.  Every  one  showed  respect  for  this 
superior  person.  And  in  fact  he  looked  ver)^  fine  in 
his  great  jack-boots  and  breeches,  his  jacket  of  dark 
velvet,  with  costly  rings  on  both  hands,  and  mustachios 
that  needed  a  deal  of  twirling.  All  became  quiet 
before  his  glance,  and  we  soon  learnt  that  he  was 
the  King  of  Spain's  envoy  to  the  Sultan  of  Morocco, 
who  had  arrived  in  order  to  sail  to  Tangier  on  the 
morrow  in  the  same  boat  which  was  to  convey  our 
party. 

That  was  our  destination  :  Africa,  Morocco,  Tan- 
gier. A  new  continent,  a  Mohammedan  society; 
regardless  of  the  heat  and  the  sea  voyage,  we  were 
anxiously  expecting  to  set  eyes  on  dark  Africa. 

We  had  not  yet  encountered  this  on  our  journey : 
seven  hours  on  the  sea,  and  all  of  us  bad  sailors  ; 
but  I  had  calculated  upon  the  new  surroundings  to 
divert  my  thoughts,  and  I  found  that  I  was  right. 
The  morning  of  our  departure  was  fresh  and  sunny ; 
we  felt  an  eastern  warmth,  but  it  was  delightfully 
cooled  by  a  gentle  and  hardly  noticeable  breeze.  Our 
steamer  lay  tossing  and  turning  at  anchor.  The  signal 
was  given,  and  each  settled  himself  down  as  comfort- 
ably as  he  could  ;  and  when  I  had  already  been  dancing 
some  time  with  the  ship  over  the  broad  waves,  there 


I 


112 


■II 


it 


i  ''i 


114 


AFRICA 


was  nothing  that  disturbed  me  save  the  hundreds  of 
strange  sights  that  moved  before  my  eyes.  In  the 
first  place,  the  sea — yes,  the  Mediterranean  is  blue, 
as  though  painted  with  indigo ;  yet  this  is  only  the 
colour  of  the  background,  as  it  were :  the  brilliancy  of 
the  glistening  waves,  the  shadows  of  the  clouds,  the 
reflexions  cast  by  passing  ships  upon  the  water,  the 
alternate  mirrorings  of  light  clouds  and  dark  clouds  lent 
thousandfold  variety  to  the  blue  water,  and  the  rolling 
mountains  with  their  white  tops  and  purple-green 
middle  tints  give  an  incessant  rhythmic  movement  to 
the  whole. 

But  the  crew  and  passengers  of  the  ship  are  also 
a  luxurious  spectacle.  Negro  and  Spanish  sailors, 
travellers  of  every  tongue  and  costume,  from  the  English 
tourist  in  his  check  suit  to  the  Arab  who  lies  prone 
upon  the  deck,  wrapped  in  his  flowing  burnous,  and 
carrying  his  half-naked  children,  with  their  shorn  heads 
and  their  amulets,  upon  his  breast. 

By  way  of  intermezzo,  two  Spanish  girls  from  Cadiz 
sat  by  my  side,  erect,  pale  and  timid,  like  two  little 
marble  statues,  with  their  delicate  marble  profiles 
turned  towards  the  horizon.  They  did  not  speak,  but 
pressed  shyly  against  each  other ;  gradually  the  one 
grew  paler  and  paler  and  the  other  nervous  and  ill-at- 
ease.  Silently  they  left  the  deck  and  went  below,  and 
I  did  not  see  them  return. 

For  hours  and  hours  we  went  up  and  down,  some- 
times as  though  we  were  descending  to  mysterious 
depths,  only  to  be  thrown  up  again  by  the  prow: 
everything  shook,  groaned,  and  rattled  ;  but  the  tedium 
was  often  dissipated  by  passing  ships,  pushing  along 
with  their  motley  sails,  their  crews  shouting  a  greeting. 


AFRICA 


115 


1 


Steamers  passed  us,  and  men-of-war,  and  sloops  filled 
with  turbaned  Moors. 

At  last,  in  the  far  distance,  we  saw  a  naked  rock :  it 
was  Tangier.     We  were  still  in  the  open  sea,  but  our 
steam-boat    was    anchored    and    remained    stationary. 
The  envoy  and  his  suite  appeared  upon  deck ;  a  flag 
was  hoisted,  and  far  away  in  the  vista  something  came 
bobbing  along  which   at  that  distance   looked  like  a 
golden  slipper  carried  on  a  silver  salver.     Signals  were 
whistled,  preparations  made  for  departure,  ladders  let 
down,  and  the  extraordinary  apparition  in  the  distance 
resolved   itself  into  a  sloop  adorned  with  large  flags, 
which  bore  straight  down  upon  us.     It  was  the  royal 
sloop,  and  lay  to  beside  our  vessel.     A  polychromatic 
spectacle  upon  this  blue  field,  the  black  and  brown  crew 
with  their  white  turbans,  the  sloop  with  her  bright- 
coloured    carpets,    shawls,    and    silken    cushions.      A 
tableau  vivant  reminding  me  of  Decamps,  Delacroix, 
Rubens,  Ribera,  of  all  the  big  wielders  of  the  brush 
whom  I  knew  so  well  and  admired  so  greatly. 

Slowly,  in  the  distance,  dancing  along,  came  the 
black  cutters  for  the  other  passengers,  and  we  quiet 
citizens  experienced  a  somewhat  alarming  sensation 
at  the  thought  of  having  to  be  tossed  up  and  down 
so  far  over  this  great,  billowing  space;  but  there 
was  not  much  time  for  reflection.  A  young  man  in 
European  dress  introduced  himself  in  good  English 
and  showed  us  a  telegram  from  Cadiz  ordering  him 
to  place  himself  at  our  service.  Behind  him  came 
five  porters,  their  fierce  heads  wound  in  red  and 
yellow  cloths ;  a  linen  cloth  was  twisted  round  their 
brown  hips.  At  the  direction  of  our  guide  they 
caught  us  in   their  arms  and   lifted   us  on  high  ;   all 


ii6 


AFRICA 


were  flung  into  the  cutter  pell-mell,  men,  trunks,  and 
bags ;  each  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  giving 
and  receiving  orders  ;  with  all  that,  the  whistling  and 
screeching  of  the  steamer,  which  enveloped  us  in  the 
black  smoke  from  her  funnels.     A  devilish  din. 

On  the  bench  before  me  in  the  sloop  sat  two  timid 
little  old  people,  husband  and  wife,  looking  round  in 
disquiet  and  alarm ;  they  anxiously  held  all  kinds  of 
parcels,  umbrellas  and  wraps  together,  and  when  we 
suddenly  felt  a  violent  shock,  the  little  old  gentleman 
caught  hold  of  my  knee  to  save  himself  from  falling. 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  in  English,  looking 
up  at  me  as  though  inquiring  whether  I  understood 
that  language ;  and  when  I  nodded  affirmatively,  he 
continued,  "  Is  it  not  a  shame,  the  way  they  manage 
these  things  here?" 

But  the  brown  barbarian,  with  the  big  blue  cap 
on  his  woolly  black  hair,  who  stood  swinging  his  great 
legs  on  the  edge  of  the  tossing  sloop,  gave  the  signal, 
and  we  sailed  away  from  the  steamer  across  the  wide 
expanse  of  water,  straight  for  Tangier.  I  cannot  deny 
that  this  rocking  in  the  open  sea  presented  certain 
terrors  for  one  accustomed  to  his  daily  easy-chair. 
As  we  lay  there,  stowed  in  between  parcels  and  all 
packed  together,  it  seemed  as  though  we  were  lying 
level  with  the  endless  water,  and  were  simply  swim- 
ming along.  Amid  all  came  the  danger  of  a  large 
ship  bearing  down  upon  us.  We  had  to  heave  to,  and 
then  go  on  again ;  but  the  rock  approached  nearer 
and  nearer,  w^e  distinguished  the  sandy  coast,  the 
throng  of  people  awaiting  us,  and  with  a  shock,  we 
found  ourselves  on  shore.  Aided  by  all  sorts  of  arms 
and   hands,  not  recognisable  one  from  the  other,  we 


\ 


AFRICA 


"7 


stepped  from  our  boat.  No  omnibuses,  no  hotel  touts, 
only  a  pushing  and  jostling  to  get  hold  of  our  luggage 
and  carry  it  away.  Thanks  to  the  calm  preserved  by 
our  guide  amid  all  this  excitement,  all  went  well, 
and  after  a  few  steps  upon  African  soil,  we  found 
ourselves  standing  before  the  customs-officers  of  the 
Sultan  of  Morocco.     What  figures  ! 

The  first  meeting  with  the  official  Mussulman  is 
striking  indeed.  1  here  is  nothing  here  that  reminds 
you  of  European  officialism  or  of  anything  else.  These 
functionaries  stare  at  you  with  an  arrogant  indifference 
for  all  that  concerns  the  stranger.  It  was  as  though 
the  Sultan  had  selected  them  in  order  to  accentuate 
the  inferiority  of  the  European  in  dress  and  stature. 
There  was  no  distinguishing  mark  or  uniform  to  be 
seen  in  their  costume;  but  the  attitude  and  bearing 
of  the  officers  showed  that  it  was  they  who  com- 
manded here. 

In  the  shade,  leaning  carelessly  with  one  arm 
against  the  wall,  sat  the  chief  officer.  On  his  brown 
head  he  wore  a  tall  turban,  and  his  whole  figure  was 
wrapped  in  an  elegant,  white  drapery,  which  fell  from 
his  broad,  naked  chest  to  his  bare  legs.  He  looked 
down  contemptuously  upon  the  bags  and  trunks  spread 
out  at  his  feet ;  he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand,  and 
we  were  at  liberty  to  depart.  Our  guide  took  us  to  an 
hotel,  furnished  in  the  English  fashion  with  all  the 
comforts  to  which  we  are,  alas,  enslaved. 

To  such  an  extent  are  we  Nature's  bondsmen  that, 
when  at  last  I  reached  my  room,  where  I  intended  to 
bathe,  dress,  and  write  my  letters,  I  sat  down  on  the 
sofa,  and  without  knowing  it,  fell  into  a  gentle  sleep, 
with  my  trunks  around  me,  my  travelling-clothes  on, 


ii8 


AFRICA 


and  no  one  to  bother  his  head  about  me.     I  must  have 
sat  sleeping  for  an  hour  or  more,  when   I  was  aroused 
by  creaking  steps ;  but  when   I  opened  my  eyes,  I  at 
first  thought  I  was  under  the  influence  of  a  nightmare. 
A  big  fellow,  black  as  the  devil,  in  a  white  shirt,  was 
chattering  gibberish  to  me  and  grinning  with  a  mouth 
full  of  the  largest  and  whitest  teeth  I  had  ever  seen.     I 
thought  I  was  about  to  be  murdered  ;  but  the  fellow 
pulled  a  very  small,  badly-fingered  book  from  his  breast, 
and  begged  me  to  look  into  it.     I  began  to  understand! 
He  was  a  donkey-driver  and  messenger,  who  had  come 
to  recommend  himself;  and  the  book  contained  eulogies 
of  his  exceptional  cleverness  and   honesty,  written   in 
English  and  French,  and   signed   by  names  which    I 
had  naturally  never  heard  of.     True,  he  spoke  French 
and  English,  but  in  a  way  to  be  understood  only  by 
the  Arabs ;  he  understood  me  with  difficulty  and  I  him 
not  at  all.     At  my  wits'  end  how  to  get  rid  of  him,  I 
seized  our  guide's  card  and  made  signs  to  him  to  come 
to  an  arrangement  with  that  gentleman.     He  uttered  a 
cry  of  surprise,  and  looked  very  depressed,  but  at  last 
left  my  room,  kissing  my  hand  and  bowing  as  he  went. 
I  was  relieved,  for  I  felt  stiff*  from  my  sleep  in  addition 
to  all   my  fatigue.      My  companions,   who  were   now 
quite  refreshed,  came  to  see  me  and  told  me  that  they 
were  ready  for  a  good   meal.     I  had  half-an-hour  to 
spare,  and  employed  this  in   doing  all   that  a  human 
being  has  to  do  on  such  occasions.     Feeling  new-born, 
within  and  without,  I  left  the  dining-room  and  went  to 
my  own  room  to  read  and  write. 

But  there  was  no  question  of  that.  When  I  drew 
aside  the  curtains  that  flapped  before  the  wide-open 
window,  I  stood  amazed  and  astounded  at  the  first  sight 


I 


AFRICA 


119 


of  an  African  town.    Tangier  lay  stretched  before  me 
as  a  panorama  glittering  in   the  sun.     Endless  rows 
of  white  houses,   turrets  and   walls,  lying  as   it  were 
sprinkled  over  hills  high  and  low.     All  was  white  in  the 
foreground,  all  was  white  further  on,  where  the  turrets 
stood,  and  the  mosque,  tall,  white,  crenulated  walls  with 
openings  that  looked  like  loop-holes.     White,  all  was 
white,  far  into  the  distance,  where  it  abutted  upon  the 
exquisite  blue  of  the  sea.     Glimpses  of  this  blue  ap- 
peared here  and  there,  between  all  the  whiteness,  where 
the  lines  of  the  hills  descended,  or  ran  down  a  precipi- 
tous declivity  into  a  low-lying  valley ;  until  at  last  the 
blue  of  the  sea  formed  a  sharp  line  against  the  horizon 
at  the  extreme  boundary  of  the  town. 

I  sat  and  stared  at  the  beauty  of  lines  and  colours, 
and  saw  that  night  was  beginning  to  fall.     The  colour 
of  the  sky  became  a  greenish  blue,  and  here  and  there 
the  long,  narrow,  purple  clouds  assumed  a  golden  tint, 
which  caused  them  to  glitter  like  bars  of  polished  gold  \ 
but  when  I  lowered  my  eyes  from  the  gleaming  bril- 
liance of  the  sky  to  the  white  town,  it  was  white  no 
longer,  a  pale  rose  tint  had  overspread  it,  the  sharp 
Imes  of  the  walls  melted  into  one  another,  the  pale  red 
changed  to  grey,  the  gold  vanished  from  the  sky,  and 
when  I  looked  again,  town,  hills,  and  sea  had  become 
one,  and  formed  a  dark  mass  against  the  clear  sky,  in 
which  the  moon  and  stars  became  gradually  visible. 
All   lay  wrapped   in  the   veil    of  night;   I   closed   my 
window,  went  to  bed,  and  dreamt  a  confused  dream 
of  all  that  I  had  seen. 


TANGIER 

11 OW  strange,  wild,  and  fierce  is  this  Mohammedan 
world.  The  streets  almost  impassable :  I  compare 
them  to  a  crocodile's  back,  so  uneven  are  they,  and 
with  a  gutter  into  which  one  continually  splashes ; 
sometimes,  at  an  unexpected  turn  in  the  street,  I 
stumble  over  a  man  lying  with  half  his  body  within 
doors  and  his  legs  stretched  over  the  roadway.  Here 
stands  a  squat  house  with  a  shop  in  which  they  sell 
fruit,  and  a  troop  of  children  in  yellow  and  green  are 
playing  in  front  of  it,  on  a  huge  heap  of  offal,  about 
which  buzz  a  multitude  of  insects.  The  brown 
urchins  fight  and  play  around  it,  and  take  no  notice 
of  the  stench  and  of  the  watery  mire  that  runs  between 
my  feet  as  I  approach  it ;  and  yet  this  picture  presents 
a  sunniness  and  a  wealth  of  colour  which  attract  and 
hold  my  senses,  accustomed  to  the  greys  of  the  North. 
A  black  water-carrier  comes  stalking  up  with  long 
steps ;  he  is  quite  naked,  the  sun  has  burnt  him  black 
and  dry.  His  woolly  hair  is  almost  indistinguishable 
from  his  knotty  head,  in  which  a  pair  of  gleaming  eyes 
lie  deeply  hidden,  while  a  sharp,  crooked  nose  and 
two  thick,  broad  lips  jut  out,  and  the  chin  retreats, 
ending  in  a  short,  crisp  beard.  A  small  greyish  cloth 
is  twisted  round  his  loins  and  swings  between  his  legs ; 
but   he   derives   his   real    importance   from    the  great 


TANGIER 


121 


1 20 


brown  goat-skin  swung  round  his  shiny  hide.  The 
legs  are  just  visible,  the  belly  of  the  tanned  beast  is 
filled  with  water,  and  the  neck  serves  as  a  spout  to 
drink  from.  I  should  not  care  for  it,  I  think,  as  I 
watch  an  old  man,  trembling  in  his  legs,  putting  out 
his  mouth  and  taking  his  refreshment;  he  is  blind, 
poor  old  man,  carries  a  branch  of  a  tree  in  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  clasps  tightly  the  arm  of  a  sinewy 
lad,  who  begs  for  him. 

But  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  wonderful  emotion 
you  experience  when  you  meet  a  woman.  As  I  live, 
there  comes  a  grey  linen  sack  walking  this  way,  edging 
along  the  wall ;  I  examined  it  carefully,  but  could  not 
catch  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  eyes  or  feet.  Such  is 
the  extravagant  injunction  which  the  Koran  lays  upon 
married  women;  it  is  not  a  feeling  of  morality  that 
conceals  the  beauty  of  women  from  all  eyes,  but  the 
precept  of  the  Koran,  which  declares  that  a  woman 
shall  uncover  her  body  before  none  but  her  lord  and 

master.     She  moves  slowly,  until  she   stops  before 

w^hat  shall  I  call  it  ?— the  door,  entrance,  opening  of  a 

house.     Within  its  dark  depth  a  multitude  of  children 

lie  as  though  sown  in  the  ground.     It  appears  to  be  a 

little  school,  and  she  remains  standing  at  the  door-post 

waiting  for  her  child.     Hidden  by  the  darkness  of  the 

doorway,  she  raises  the  veil  that  hangs  before  her  face, 

and  her  child  quickly  recognizes  her ;  but  no  one  else 

can  see  her   features,   unless   it   be  the  schoolmaster, 

who  sits  far  within  and  keeps  order  with  a  big  roll 

of  paper.     A  hand  is  pushed  from  out  the  linen  bag 

to  hold  the  child,  and  the  pair  return  shuffling  along 

the  uneven  road. 

At  night  all  is  Egyptian  darkness  here.     Our  guide 

Q 


U' 


122 


TANGIER 


and  Mahomet,  our  servant,  walk  before  us,  carrying  a 
little  lantern.  It  might  well  be  called  a  magic  lantern, 
for  it  displays  the  maddest,  picturesquest  effects  in 
the  dark  and  narrow  little  streets  which  we  traverse. 
Inconceivable  fellows  loom  suddenly  down  upon  us; 
their  legs  are  lighted  up,  their  heads  fly  away  in  the 
darkness  through  the  street,  which  moves  with  all 
sorts  of  strange  shadows.  A  walk  with  Mahomet  and 
the  guide  at  night,  armed  with  a  lantern,  offers 
hundreds  of  pictures  with  the  most  curious  effects  of 
light,  and  always  reminds  me  of  Rembrandt's  etchings 
of  the  Flight  from  Egypt :  Joseph  holding  a  lantern, 
and  the  shepherds  who  at  night  visit  the  Child  Jesus 
in  His  stable.  In  this  lies  the  true  greatness  of  that 
man  of  wonders,  that  Nature  herself  so  constantly 
recalls  his  art  to  you. 

All  these  are  trifles,  however;  we  are  on  our 
way  to  the  market  of  Tangier.  Our  company,  five 
in  number,  mounts  upon  mules,  always  excepting 
Mahomet,  who,  armed  with  a  stick,  walks  in  front 
and  acts  as  pilot,  interpreter,  and  peace-maker ;  for 
the  road  we  are  now  following  is  filled  with  all  sorts 
of  people,  merchants,  and  beasts  of  every  description, 
and  to  reach  the  market  we  have  to  work  our  way 
through  the  whole  street  until  we  come  to  another 
gate,  like  that  at  the  sea  end  of  the  town.  The  crowd 
and  throng  of  goats,  carriers,  donkey-drivers,  women 
with  baskets  of  fruit,  all  form  an  inextricable  con- 
fusion, and  now  and  then  an  oath  is  sent  after  us  as 
we  push  and  fight  our  way  through.  When  we  came 
to  a  mosque,  with  a  large  white  sheet  hung  before  it, 
and  stopped  for  a  moment  to  understand  what  was 
happening,  Mahomet  drove  us  on  ;  we  must  not  loiter, 


TANGIER 


123 


we  must  get  on.  We  pass  by  numbers  of  booths, 
push  through  the  little  dark  gate-way,  and  find  our- 
selves in  a  boundless  space  lighted  by  the  dazzling 
African  sun. 

The  first  moment  of  arrival  dazes  one.     Thousands 
of  people,  you  could  walk  on  their  heads,  all  screaming 
and  struggling  together ;  and  the  ground  runs  up  from 
the  gate  below,  where  we  are  standing,  to  where  the 
road  starts  towards  Fez,  so  that  it  seems  as  though 
the  multitude  is  bearing  down  upon  you  from  above. 
There  is  no  road,  no  pathway  to  be  seen;  all  push 
and    rush    against   you;    we   dared    not   proceed,    but 
Mahomet  in  front,  with  his  stick,  and  our  guide  on 
his  horse,  by  the  side  of  our  mules,  protected  us  with 
the  coolness  of  people  who  were  used  to  such  scenes 
and  knew  what  they  had  to  do,  and  thus  we  moved 
with  the  rest  amid  this  sea  of  living  humanity. 

Ranged  in  a  circle,  wrapped  in  great  grey  cloaks, 
sat  the  women  from  outside  the  town,  hunched  down 
on  the  ground  with  their  arms  around  their  knees; 
they  had  all  sorts  of  fruits,  poultry,  and  plants   for 
sale ;  so  soon  as  we  glanced  at  them  their  veils  were 
drawn  up  to  just  above  their  heads.     An  immense  row 
of  sheep,  brown  and  black,  stood  next  to  a  multitude 
of  red-brown  oxen.     Then  there  were  great  displays 
of  carpets  and  wearing  apparel.     A  number  of  men 
were  even  engaged   in  working  and  selling  at  once; 
many  manufactured  in   the  open  air  what  they  were 
exhibiting  in   the   market.     A  pillar  of  blue  smoke 
rose  high  in  the  air  in  one  corner ;  it  was  a  copper- 
smith, engaged   in    soldering  and    burning  all   kinds 
of   figures    into    great    dishes.       Down    from    above 
comes  an  Arab,  followed  by  five  and  twenty  camels, 


124 


TANGIER 


looking"  for  a  place  to  unload  his  wares ;  he  has  just 
made  a  fortnight's  journey  on  foot  from  Fez.  Brown 
and  grey  as  the  ground  he  walks  on  are  his  face,  his 
hair,  his  clothes,  his  camels ;  all  are  covered  with  the 
grey  dust  which,  during  that  long  journey  by  day 
and  night,  has  been  blown  into  their  hides.  We  at 
once  thought  of  the  Bible  with  its  shepherds'  stories. 
It  was  E^liezer  of  Damascus,  setting  out  for  Abraham's 
birthplace  with  camels  and  gifts,  to  look  for  a  wife 
for  Isaac ;  and  truly,  if  a  painter  wished  to  treat 
this  subject,  he  would  here  have  the  exact  models  of 
all  he  wanted  before  his  eyes.  The  grave  face  of  the 
leader  of  the  caravan,  with  the  cloth  wound  thrice  and 
four  times  around  his  head,  his  sober  step  and  rest- 
ful manner,  the  simplicity  and  seriousness  of  his 
dress,  all  was  in  the  character.  Carrying  a  big  staff,  he 
walked  before  his  marvellously  long-legged  and  long- 
necked  beasts,  who  moved  their  flat  heads,  with  those 
large  eyes  of  theirs,  inquisitively  from  side  to  side. 

A  little  further  was  a  low,  white  building.  One 
saw  nothing  but  a  large  square  of  white  stone,  on 
which  was  hoisted  a  stick  with  a  flag.  This  was  the 
dwelling  of  a  marabout  or  sacred  person,  and  this  priest 
or  learned  man,  whichever  you  like  to  call  him,  sat 
before  the  entrance  to  his  house,  writing  out  amulets 
for  which  he  was  asked — and,  I  believe,  paid — by 
the  surrounding  multitude.  All  sorts  of  people  came 
and  went,  with  a  childish  belief  in  the  power  of  the 
sacred  writings,  and  we  could  scarcely  distinguish  the 
holy  man's  person,  closely  surrounded  as  he  was  by 
his  customers. 

But  strangest  of  all,  to  us,  were  two  improvisators. 
A   space  w^as    kept   clear,    about  which    men,  women, 


I 


TANGIER 


125 


and  children  sat,  stood,  or  lay,  with  the  two  screeching 
men  in  their  midst.  They  sat  opposite  each  other, 
and  each  held  a  musical  instrument  in  his  hands, 
with  which  he  now  and  again  struck  the  tone.  To 
our  ears  it  seemed  as  though  the  two  artists  were 
carrying  on  a  violent  dispute  in  words.  Every  now 
and  then  they  sprang  up,  and  with  terrific  gestures 
and  cries,  one  would  hurl  all  sorts  of  remarks  at  the 
other,  in  a  singing,  humming  tone.  They  inflicted 
the  most  violent  movements  upon  their  heads,  some- 
times as  though  they  were  trying  to  twist  them  off 
their  necks,  in  order  to  throw  them  at  each  other ; 
then  they  would  step  back  again,  and  try  to  excel  one 
another  in  yelling,  grating  screams.  I  realized  once 
more  that  one  should  see  things  for  one's  self  in 
their  own  atmosphere.  I  had  always  read  and  seen 
drawings  of  the  wandering  singers,  the  Arabian 
improvisators,  the  popular  poets  of  the  East.  But 
nothing  can  reproduce  the  sound,  the  gestures,  the 
impetuosity  of  these  Oriental  minstrels ;  they  must 
be  seen.  Motionless,  for  hours,  the  lovers  of  the  art 
sit  listening  to  these  performances ;  and  we  our- 
selves, who  understood  not  a  word,  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot  watching  this  strange  scene  amid  the  great 
struggling  crowd. 

Our  guide,  however,  wanted  to  take  us  further. 
Mahomet  had  a  terrible  difficulty  in  piloting  our 
beasts,  and  especially  the  donkey  which  carried  my 
small  person,  through  the  jostling  crowd.  There  was 
no  orderliness,  no  rule  of  the  road,  no  road,  no  lane 
even  ;  but  by  dint  of  thumping  and  bumping  we  at  last 
emerged  into  the  space  above,  to  enjoy  a  quiet  ride 
through  the  neighbouring  southerly  landscape. 


AN   AFRICAN    LANDSCAPE 

i>  O  sooner  had  we  left  the  eminence  behind  us,  than 
a  scene  very  different  from  the  crowd  and  bustle  of  the 
market  greeted  our  eyes.  The  lofty,  spacious  sky  was 
flecked  with  warm,  white  clouds ;  around  us  rose  the 
scent  of  flowers  and  plants  which  grew  plentifully  in 
the  plain  and  by  the  roadside;  the  whole  landscape 
was,  as  it  were,  formed  of  flowers,  and  the  roads, 
although  loose  and  sandy,  were  never  steep  or  trouble- 
some. All  around  were  aloes  with  their  sharp  sword- 
like leaves,  cactus-plants  with  their  twisted  limbs; 
roses,    red   and   yellow,    stood    in    between.     All    this 


126 


AN    AFRICAN    LANDSCAPE  127 

grows  up  through  the  grey,  stony  ground  ;  and  one 
need  not  be  a  painter  to  see  a  picture  before  him,  when 
he  remembers  this  scene,  sunny,  fresh  and  charming. 
Is  this  dark  Africa?  said  I  to  myself.  It  was  as 
though  I  heard  a  soft  melody  in  my  ears,  a  picture, 
beautiful  in  line  and  colour.  I  rode  in  ecstasy  upon 
my  patient  ass  through  small,  still  hamlets,  with 
multitudes  of  children  rolling  brown  and  naked  in  the 
roadway.  Men  and  women  engaged  in  some  handi- 
work, or  slowly  coming  up  the  road  with  loaded  mules, 
or  driving  sheep  and  goats  to  shelter,  patriarchal 
in  appearance.  All  this  illumined  by  the  powerful 
evening  sun,  which  threw  broad  shadows  across  the 
valleys,  and  cast  its  gleaming  rays  into  the  emerald 
green  of  the  woods,  filled  with  singing  birds.  We 
heard  the  nightingale,  evening  was  falling,  and  we 
descended  seawards  and  reached  Tangier  as  we  had 
left  it,  through  the  brown  sand  of  the  sea  gate. 

My  curiosity  was  ever  aroused  to  know  what  the 
dwellings  here,  those  great,  square  stone  blocks, 
looked  like  inside.  I  was  always  told  that  it  was 
dangerous,  that  there  was  nothing  to  see,  and  that, 
if  there  were,  knowing  the  strange  manners  of  the 
inhabitants,  I  could  not  get  to  see  anything.  One 
morning  I  was  walking  by  myself,  armed  with  my 
stick,  to  keep  my  balance  on  the  slippery  and  uneven 
streets,  when  I  saw  a  porch  or  gate-way,  within  which 
a  woman  was  engaged  in  drawing  water  from  a  well. 
I  waited  a  moment,  and  when  she  was  gone  I  entered 
and  saw  a  high,  dark  space,  in  which  stood  a  great 
stone  well,  just  as  we  see  it  represented  in  pictures  of 
Rachel  and  Leah.  High  above  the  well  was  a  wheel, 
from  which  hung  ropes  and  an  iron  hook ;  all  looked 


I    ! 


I 


tl 


128 


AN    AFRICAN    LANDSCAPE 


1 


old  and  weather-beaten,  but  it  seems  that  such  things 
are  able  to  enjoy  a  particularly  long  life  in  these 
regions.  I  looked  around  me,  and  perceived,  in  a  dark 
corner,  a  stone  staircase,  obviously  leading  to  the 
apartments  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  sombre  dwelling. 
Instinctively  my  curiosity  drove  me  up  these  stairs. 
It  was  exceedingly  dark,  but  when  I  had  climbed  a 
little  above  the  well,  the  steps  were  faintly  lighted  from 
a  small  opening,  apparently  in  the  roof.  I  heard  some- 
thing come  shuffling  downstairs,  but  could  not  see 
what  it  was,  owing  to  the  spiral  form  of  the  staircase ; 
as  I  mounted,  however,  I  met  a  female  figure  descend- 
ing— a  tall  slender  woman,  carrying  a  large  pitcher. 

When  she  caught  sight  of  me,  she  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall,  quickly  pulled  the  veil  hanging  from  her  head 
over  her  eyes,  and  hurried  down  the  stairs  and  out  of 
the  gate.     It  was  just  as  though  a  vision  had  suddenly 
passed   by  me  in   that  dark  environment.     I   climbed 
still  higher,  until  I  reached  the  top  of  the  stair,  where  I 
saw  a  curtain  which   moved  to  and  fro;  through   its 
centre  opening  involuntarily  I  was  able  to  see  a'iid  to 
be  seen.     I  stood  there  and  dared  not  go  further,  not 
knowing  what  might  befall  me  if  I  entered  ;  but  as  I 
stood  hesitating  I  heard,  with  great  emotion,  a  voice 
cry,  ''Ma  mewakscJiegof''  in  Hebrew,  which  I  under- 
stand :  it  was  a  deep  man's  voice  asking : 
**  What  do  you  seek  here  ?  " 
Thereupon  I  entered,  and  said  in  my  turn  : 
'' Saloni   adonai  salom   al lie  hem   onottghi.    Jelmdi 
me  eeyefs  Hollander^ 

'' Eerets    Hollande;'    said    the    man.    ''Where   is 
that  ?  what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

'  "  The  Lord  be  with  you,  the  Lord  bless  you.     I  am  a  Jew  from  Holland." 


AN    AFRICAN    LANDSCAPE 


129 


I  endeavoured  as  best  I  could,  for  I  am  not  at  all 
strong   in    Hebrew,    to   enlighten    the   man.  .  .  .  But 
I  must  tell  you  what  I  saw  and  what  manner  of  man 
it  was.     I    had    entered   a   dark    room,    lighted    by   a 
narrow,    oblong,    horizontal    little    window,    by   which 
I  mean  a  cut-out  aperture,  which  was  closed  at  night  or 
in  bad  weather  with  a  shutter.     The  light  cut  sharply 
through  this  square  and  outlined  itself  upon  the  stone 
floor.     Pushed    close    to    this   aperture   stood   a   long 
work-table    supported    by  trestles,   and    over   it    lay  a 
great    roll    of   parchment,    which    covered    nearly    the 
whole    width    of   the    table,    and    hung    down    below. 
Behind  the  table  sat  the  Jewish  scribe,  leaning  forwards 
with    his   arms  upon  the  parchment,  and  turned  his 
majestic  head  where  I  stood.     The  head  seemed  much 
too  large   for   the  body,  which  was  obscured  by  the 
shadow  behind  and  beneath  the  low  table.     It  was  a 
splendid    head,    with    a    fine,    transparent    pallor    like 
alabaster,   and  wrinkles  large   and  small    ran   around 
the  small  eyes  and  the  great  hooked  nose.     A  little 
black  cap  covered  the  white  skull,  and  a  long  yellowish- 
white  beard  lay  spread  in  great  flakes  over  the  parch- 
ment document.     He  sat  in  a  sort  of  arm-chair  without 
a  back,  and  a  pair  of  crutches  lay  slanting  from  the 
chair  down  to  the  ground.  '  How  gladly  I  would  have 
produced  my  sketch-book,  and  drawn  that  noble  head 
with  the  beard,  which  formed  one  whiteness  with  the 
parchment  and  the  light  from  the  window,  contained 
amid  the  gloom  of  this  sombre  apartment ;  but  I  lacked 
the  courage  in  face  of  the  scribe's  fixed  glance.     He 
proudly  displayed  to  me  the  beauty  of  his  manuscript, 
the  excellence  of  the  capital  letters,  and  the  evenness 
of  the  whole,  all  written  without  ruled  lines.     He  took 

R 


(' j 


I30 


AN    AFRICAN    LANDSCAPE 


up  his  great  goose-quill  in  a  grand  manner,  dipped  it 
into  the  black  bottle  that  stood  beside  him,  and  showed 
me  how  he  wrote.  After  I  had  assured  him  of  my 
admiration,  he  asked  me  to  hand  him  his  crutches, 
and  limped  with  me  to  the  open,  flat  roof,  which  was 
on  the  same  level  as  his  room.  Here  lay  mats,  upon 
which  he  lowered  himself  and  requested  me  to  be 
seated.  Together  we  enjoyed  the  panorama  of  Tangier, 
which  lay  spread  out  below  us,  with  the  hills  and  the 
sea  in  the  distance.  As  I  sat  with  this  strange  land 
before  my  eyes,  next  to  this  long-bearded  old  man, 
reclining  upon  the  mats  of  this  flat  roof  in  Morocco, 
I  had  a  feeling  as  though  I  were  living  in  a  world 
of  which  I  had  dreamt.  When  I  rose  to  depart,  the 
old  man  laid  his  hands  upon  my  head,  and  with  a 
'\fcwonxIiccho  ado)iai  ^ucjisnierecho''^  we  took  our 
leave  of  one  another. 


1  " 


The  Lord  bless  and  protect  you.' 


DEPARTURE    FROM    TANGIER 

1  HE  day  before  our  departure,  our  guide  and 
Mahomet  presented  themselves  as  we  were  at  break- 
fast. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Pinto  ?     Why  so  early  ?  " 
''  I  will  tell  you,  sir.     If  you  gentlemen  care  to  go 
on  to  Fez,  we  don't  think  you  will  regret  it." 

We  looked  earnestly  at  our  two  trusty  attendants. 
They  formed  a  curious  contrast  as  they  stood  there: 
Pinto  clean  and  sober  as  always,  like  an  Englishman, 
hat  in  hand ;  Mahomet  wearing  his  brown  burnous 
over  his  fat  chest,  with  bare  legs,  white  teeth,  and 
rolling  eyes. 

"  Is  it  fine  there,"  we  asked,  ''and  interesting?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply;  "it  is  like  this,  but  much 
more  Moorish,  much  further  inland,  and  it  is  the  seat 
of  the  Sultan  and  his  Court." 

"All  right !  "  we  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  but,  you  see,"  said  Pinto,  precise  as  ever,  "if 
you  decide  to  go,  we  must  arrange  everything  for  you ; 
it  is  a  journey  of  a  fortnight  or  so  through  the  desert." 

We  cast  hesitating  looks  at  one  another. 

"  What  has  to  be  done,  then  ?  " 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "provisions  for  the  journey, 
of  course :  we  can  see  to  that ;  but  we  shall  want  a  tent, 

carried  on  a  camel,  and  a  camel-driver,  for  it  is  very 

131 


% 


■  W 


132 


DEPARTURE    FROM    TANGIER 


cold    sometimes   at    ni^^-ht,  and    besides   you    can't   be 
always  sitting  on  your  camel  or  your  mule.  .   .  ." 

I  shuddered  at  the  thought. 

"And  is  it  very  hot  by  day?" 

"Yes,"  said  Pinto,  "it  is  rather  hot  in  the  open 
plains,  but  then  that  is  the  African  climate." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Erens,  who  was  afraid  of  falling  ill 
again,  "that  is  all  very  well  for  Moors  and  negroes." 

"  I  must  know  beforehand,"  continued  Pinto,  "as  I 
must  ask  the  Daja  for  an  escort  of  two  armed  bazouks, 
else  our  safety  would  be  in  danger.  There  are  always 
troops  of  thieves  and  brigands  hovering  about."  We 
did  not  speak  a  word.  "  For  the  return  journey,"  he 
continued,  "which  also  takes  a  fortnight,  we  can 
arrange  everything  in  Fez.  I  once  conducted  this  trip 
very  successfully  for  a  diplomatist  and  his  family,  who 
had  been  ordered  to  the  Sultan's  Court." 

None  of  the  three  of  us,  however,  was  attracted  by 
all  these  delights. 

"  Look  here,  Pinto,"  I  said  at  last,  "  whenever  I  am 
appointed  on  a  mission  to  the  Sultan,  I  will  let  you 
make  all  the  arrangements ;  but  in  the  meantime,  I 
must  remind  you  that,  according  to  our  programme, 
we  have  reached  the  furthest  point  on  our  journey,  and 
that  it  is  time  to  think  of  turning  back.  So  I  have 
another  commission  for  you.  Be  so  good  as  to  try 
and  secure  three  good  berths  for  us  on  the  steamer  to 
Gibraltar." 


I 


GIBRALTAR 

What  a  cruel  contrast  between  Tangier  and  Spain 
and — Gibraltar ! 

An  English  town,  filled  with  red  English  soldiers, 
with  their  little  caps  worn  on  one  side  of  their  heads ; 
all  the  shops  with  English  signs;  English  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  daintily  gloved,  driving  about  in  well- 
appointed  carriages,  or  riding  on  horseback ;  it  re- 
minded one  here  and  there  of  Piccadilly. 

Gibraltar  is  a  rectangular  town,  at  the  foot  of  the 
rock ;  and  high  in  the  air  above  it,  on  the  top  of  that 
apparently  inaccessible  eminence,  hangs  the  celebrated 
fortress,  a  marvel  of  fortification,  they  say.  But 
English  military  life  was  not  what  we  had  come  to 
see;  we  had  come  to  Gibraltar  as  affording  the  best 
route  to  the  adjacent  part  of  Spain,  through  which  we 
intended  to  go  to  Granada.  And  so  we  crossed  the 
sea  for  the  third  time,  steaming  to  Algeciras,  the  little 
town  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bay. 


133 


■rilM 


If 
I 


("•! 


I  a 


•►»*     *— . 


ALGFXIRAS 


ALGECIRAS 

ALGECIRAS  is  a  little  harbour  on  the  Mediter- 
ranean, just  opposite  Gibraltar,  and  when  the  gun  is 
fired  in  the  fortress  announcing-  the  rising  and  settino- 
of  the  sun,  and  also  the  opening  and  closing  of  the 
fortress  gates,  you  hear  the  reverberation  across  the 
sea  through  the  whole  of  the  little  town.  The  lively 
little  place  is  seen  at  its  best  at  the  side  touching  the 
sea.  There  are  numerous  open-air  cafds  ;  the  hotels  are 
full  of  sailors  of  all  nations.  There  are  red  English 
soldiers    here    too,    but    only   as    visitors    among    the 

crowd ;    turbaned    Moors  from   Tangier ;   Jewish   mer- 

134 


\ 


^35 


I  \ 


chants  from  Cadiz  wearing  their  black  caps  and  long 
silk  togas ;  and  women  in  graceful  silken  gowns,  with 
wide  sleeves  and  veils. 

It  was  mid-day  when  we  arrived  and  sought  a  lodg- 
ing.    A  powerful,  superbly-built  porter,  with  browned 
legs  and  body,  took  the  whole  of  our  luggage  upon  his 
head  and  under  his  arm  ;  we  pushed  our  way  through 
the    tumult,    and    our    porter,   with    the    perspiration 
streaming  down  his  body,  at  last  showed  us  the  house 
of  the  padrone  to  whom  we  had  been   recommended. 
He  received  us  like  a  Spanish  hidalgo  on  the  stairs, 
and  did  not  admit  us.     His  house  was  too  good,  he 
said,   for  him   to  have   rooms  vacant  on  an  occasion 
like  the  present.     Didn't  we  know  that   it  was  feria 
to-day?     With  mingled  cruelty  and  pride,  he  pointed 
to    the   comedor,  where   flowers  and    candles   adorned 
the  many  dishes,  and  where  there  was    not   a   spare 
seat :  every  chair  was  taken,  and  numbers  of  customers 
were  being  turned  away.     There  we  stood.     Our  per- 
plexed faces  must  have  roused  the  inflated  inn-keeper's 
pity,   for  he  called  after  us,   and  with   a   grave    face, 
pressing  his  finger   to  his    forehead,   he  informed    us 
that  in  the  street  a  little  farther  up,  there  lived  an  aunt 
of   his,   who  would    probably  consent    to  take    us   in. 
Our  Atlas,  who  had  been  sitting  patiently  at  the  door 
on   one   of  our  trunks,   picked    up  the    lot   again    re- 
signedly, and  preceded  us  to  the  house  in  question. 

Here,  before  the  door,  or  rather  aperture,  of  this 
curious  and  ruined  residence,  stood  a  strapping  Spanish 
wench,  with  a  yellow  silken  kerchief,  thick  black  hair, 
and  a  round  red  face.  She  was  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion with  a  shrivelled  old  woman,  who  was  walking 
up  and  down   the   hilly  street,   paved  with   the   most 


<r,i 


I     :  «fc 


136 


ALGECIRAS 


charming-   pointed    cobble-stones.     We    made   our   re- 
quest for   a   lodging   in   our   best  Spanish    and   were 
amicably     received  ;     the     faded     strip     of     coloured 
curtain    that  did    duty  for   a   door  was   drawn    aside, 
and  we  followed  the  chattering  old   crone   up  a  dark 
stone  staircase.     We  were  careful  to  avoid  the  greasy 
banisters.     After  much   climbing,  she  showed   us  the 
room  which  was  all  she  had  for  the  three  of  us.     What 
a   lodging!     Small,   dark,   with   one   little  window,   a 
red    stone    floor,    and    a    dirty-looking   bed,    standing 
crooked.     What   could   we   do    in    a   room    like  this? 
Sleep  on  the  ground,  hang  out  of  the  window,  spend 
the  night  on  the  two  miserable  chairs?     Indignantly 
and    with    one    accord    we    stormed    down    the    stairs 
more  quickly  than  we  had  come  up,  and   related  our 
experience  to  our  carrier,  who  was  sitting  on  the  trunks 
below.      How    fortunate    that    strength    and    patience 
so   often   go   together!     Instead  of  grumbling  at  his 
tormentors,    he   calmly   said    that   this    sort   of   thing 
had  happened  to  him  before,  but  that  he  would  now 
take  us  where  he  knew  there  would  be  room.     Once 
more  we  walked  along  the  streets,  this  time  fortunately 
in    the   direction    of   the    beach.     Our   terror   lest   we 
should    have   to   spend    the    night    in    that   darksome 
death-trap   quickened    our   steps.     At    last   our   boxes 
were  set  down  for  the  third   time  before  a  wonderful 
hotel,  a  sort  of  sailors'  home :  a  number  of  them  sat 
playing   and    drinking   before   the   door.     We   passed 
through  the  entrance,  a  regular  rat's  hole,  and  could 
not  imagine  how  we  were  to  find  a  lodging  here ;  but 
Pedrello,    our    proud    conductor,    went    in    front    and 
showed  us,  in  a  corner,  the  staircase  which  we  were 
to  mount. 


ALGECIRAS 


137 


We  entered  a  very  cheerful  room,  adorned  for  the 
fair:  a  long  table,  with  coloured  paper  flowers  upon  the 
white  cloth,  laid  for  a  number  of  persons.  A  young 
man  dressed  in  bull-fighter's  costume  spoke  to  us 
politely  and  kindly,  and  said  we  could  take  our  seats 
where  we  would.  This  was  so  much  to  the  good,  but 
it  was  not  enough  :  we  wanted  a  lodging  for  the  night. 
That  was  the  weak  point.  But  the  active  little  man 
trotted  through  the  house  with  us.  Was  it  a  house,  or 
was  it  a  tower,  or  a  cellar?  In  any  case,  O  wonder  of 
wonders,  a  room  and  a  bed  was  found  for  each  of  us. 

We  found  the  feria  dinner  pleasant  and  amusing, 
although  a  little  rough  and  uncomfortable,  amidst  all 
those  fellows,  so  strange  to  us,  and  those  women  and 
girls  laughing  and  smiling  to  us,  without  our  being 
able  to  understand  them.  Happily  all  passed  off  with- 
out accidents  or  disputes,  and  we  had  the  prudence  to 
retire  early  from  this  somewhat  dangerous  company. 

Carrying  an  old-fashioned  candlestick  with  a  drip- 
ping tallow-candle,  tired  with  the  confusion  that  had 
reigned  around  us,  it  was  well  that  I  could  not  make 
a  close  inspection  of  the  apartment  allotted  to  me ; 
I  fell  asleep  without  care  for  my  surroundings.  I  was 
aroused  by  the  gun  of  Gibraltar,  but  went  to  sleep 
again.  When  I  awoke,  I  saw  that  there  was  a  curtain 
to  my  bed  as  a  protection  against  the  early  morning 
light,  which  came  through  the  window  against  which 
my  bed  stood.  Inquisitively  I  looked  around  me,  and 
I  was  not  charmed  with  what  I  saw :  this  was  certainly 
the  most  poverty-stricken  chamber  I  had  ever  occupied. 
The  door,  which  I  thought  I  had  locked,  stood  ajar ; 
the  great  rusty  lock  was  hanging  down,  key  and  all. 
Large  red  rafters  ran  aslant  across  the  ceiling ;  the  bare 


ill 


?t 


"h\ 


138 


ALGECIRAS 


yellow  walls  had  blue  patches,  besides  big,  crumbling, 
grey  holes,  where  nails  had  been  pulled  out ;  the  floor 
consisted  of  red  tiles,  which  had  been  so  badly  treated 
that  the  solitary  chair  stood  crooked,  planted  in  the 
tile-dust.  Where  was  my  washing  apparatus?  I  pre- 
sumed that,  if  I  wanted  to  wash,  I  could  go  down  to 
the  pump  below  and  use  the  common  towel,  for  here 
was  nothing,  neither  above  nor  under  the  bed.  Fortu- 
nately my  clothes  had  not  touched  the  ground  ;  but 
when  I  was  half  dressed,  I  found  I  could  no  longer 
endure  this  shutting  out  of  the  light :  I  violently 
pushed  the  bed  away  from  the  window,  and  lo !  the 
horrible  den  in  which  I  had  slept  was  turned,  as  by 
enchantment,  into  an  Aladdin's  palace.  The  window, 
now  that  the  curtain  was  removed,  opened  and  ad- 
mitted me  to  a  balcony  with  an  iron  rail.  True,  the 
balcony  was  weather-beaten  and  covered  with  grit,  the 
railing  bent  and  rusted  ;  but  I  had  prudently  tested  it, 
all  was  sound  and  strong ;  I  set  down  the  chair,  which 
I  had  but  lately  despised,  and  there  I  sat,  with  the 
Mediterranean  at  my  feet,  Gibraltar  opposite  me,  the 
African  coast  on  my  right,  the  blue  mountains  of  Spain 
on  my  left,  and  all  this  bathed  in  the  clear,  delightful 
atmosphere.  Around  me  flew  hundreds  of  swallows, 
circling  in  and  out  of  my  window ;  and  the  distant 
mountains  and  near  sea  decked  themselv^es  continuously 
in  ever-varying  hues  and  effects  of  clouds.  Steam- 
boats puffed  to  and  fro,  looking  like  ornaments  in  the 
distance.  Sailors  sang  in  the  rigging  of  their  ships, 
people  and  carts  below  made  noise  and  bustle,  and  I, 
enthroned  on  high,  sat  there,  upon  my  weather-beaten 
balcony,  like  an  inaccessible  conqueror,  who  had  ordered 
all  this  to  play  and  work  for  his  amusement. 


I 


■t . 


THE    FERIA 

1  H ROUGH  long,  steep  streets,  stumbling  and  twist- 
ing over  the  bad  pavements,  jostling  the  crowd  of 
fair-goers,  we  walked  through  the  small  irregular  town, 
which  looked  picturesque  with  its  little  squares  and 
steeples  in  the  moonlight.  At  last,  in  the  midst  of  a 
great  assemblage  of  tents  and  booths  of  every  kind,  we 

arrived  on  the  ground.     It  had  something  of  a  great, 

139 


■1; 


140 


THE    FERIA 


long  ball-room,  of  which  the  ceiling  was  formed  by 
hundreds  of  overhanging  lamps  of  all  sizes ;  yet  it 
was  in  the  open  air :  one  saw  the  trees  and  felt  the 
yielding  grass  beneath  his  feet,  and  sometimes  the 
light  of  the  moon  and  stars  penetrated  between  the 
swinging  lanterns.  It  was  a  spacious,  airy  fair.  The 
multitude  thronged  around  African  jugglers,  Italian 
singers  and  clowns;  glasses  of  sweet  drinks  stood 
ready  on  little  tables  beneath  an  outstretched  canvas, 
with  tarts  and  pastry  in  heaps.  There  was  none  of 
the  vulgar  crowding,  the  offensive  shrieking,  which 
turns  our  native  kermesses  into  pandemonia.  The 
elders  walked  about  gravely,  the  young  people  merrily 
chatting  and  laughing;  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  little 
town  were  there,  with  numbers  of  strangers  and 
peasants  from  the  surrounding  district. 

Among  the  rest  was  a  lady,  no  longer  young,  but 
with  a  beautiful  face  and  figure,  and  with  something 
striking  in  manner  and  dress.  Like  Phedre,  she  was 
escorted  by  two  exquisitely-dressed  female  companions. 
The  trio  presented  so  remarkable  an  appearance  that 
my  son  and  I  both  produced  our  sketch-books  and 
began  to  take  a  note.  To  our  alarm  she  saw  what  we 
were  doing ;  yet  she  continued  to  stand  still,  friendly 
and  smiling,  until  the  crowd  of  sight-seers  drove  her 
away,  and  bowing,  with  a  sweeping  gesture  of  the 
hand,  she  passed  on.  It  was  a  celebrated  actress  and 
dancer  from  the  neighbourhood,  with  her  assistants. 

We  followed  the  three  at  a  distance.  They  stopped 
under  a  canopy,  set  in  front  of  a  tent ;  chairs  had  been 
placed  for  them,  the  crowd  formed  a  wide  circle  around 
them,  and  the  three  women  sat  down,  and  some  gentle- 
men   came    up   and    politely    handed    them    wine   and 


t 


THE    FERIA 


141 


cakes.      This    lasted    but   a    moment.       Two    shapely 
fellows,  with  ribbons  in  their  hats  and  at  their  knees, 
carrying  a  guitar  and  castagnettes,  placed  themselves 
behind  the  ladies  and  struck  up  a  dance-tune.     Then 
the  three  women  rose,  embraced  each  other,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  a  dance  resembling  that  which  I  had 
seen  at   Madrid   on   the  feast  of  Saint   Isidoro.     But 
here  the  dance  had   still   more  meaning,   more  style, 
more  character.     It  w^as  a  dance  and  a  pantomime  in 
one.      They   danced    not   only   with    their   feet;    they 
danced  with  hands,  arms,  eyes,  with  movements  of  the 
head.     The  elegantly-dressed  head  of  the  great  dancer 
in  the  middle  was,  as  it  were,  the  principal  object  dis- 
played  for  our   admiration.     She   raised    her  eyes  to 
Heaven   in  ecstasy,  she  bent  down  as  though  about 
to  lift  a  treasure  from  the  ground.     Gracefully  turning, 
bowing   to    left    and    right,    tripping    backwards    and 
forwards  with  a  hundred    tiny  steps,   she  seemed   to 
multiply    herself,    as    she   strewed    the    ground    with 
flowers  and  threw  her  fan  into  the  air,  to  catch  it  again 
wqth  unequalled  dexterity.     Such  was  this  real  Spanish 
dancer,  the  darling  of  the  neighbouring  villages  ;  and 
the  people  applauded  with  voices,  hands  and  feet,  and 
surrounded  her  at  the  finish  with  all  kinds  of  refresh- 
ments, trifling  presents,  and  compliments. 

In  fact  this  feria  had  more  of  an  evening-party 
among  fashionable  people  than  of  a  fair  or  kermesse ; 
but  then  it  w^as  a  Spanish  peasants' /^r/V?.  Distinction 
and  reserve  are  born  in  the  Spanish.  It  is  only 
when  under  the  influence  of  outbursts  of  hatred  and 
revenge  that  these  people  become  dangerous,  like  most 
Southerners,  who,  led  by  impulse,  easily  go  to  ex- 
tremes.     There    was    no    occasion    therefore    for    the 


i< 


•     i   ; 


142 


THE    FERIA 


very  few  mounted  agiiazils  noticeable  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  fair.  The  people  all  sang  and  danced  in  groups  ; 
and  the  clowns  on  their  platforms  astounded  the  laugh- 
ing peasants  below.  After  sipping  a  glass  or  two,  and 
wandering  a  few  times  through  the  street  of  booths,  we 
returned  seawards  down  the  sloping  streets,  and  as 
I  went  to  bed  in  my  shabby  room,  I  rejoiced  in  antici- 
pation at  the  thought  of  the  cannon-shot  which  would 
call  me  to  my  balcony  the  following  morning. 

The  next  day  a  bull-fight  was  to  take  place  at 
Algeciras  in  honour  of  the  feria.  This  presented  no 
attraction  to  us,  however;  for  to  visit  these  perform- 
ances repeatedly  you  have  to  be  a  Spaniard.  We 
decided  that  we  had  seen  enough  of  them,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  strap  our  knapsacks  before  leaving  Algeciras, 
the  low-lying  fishing-village,  for  Ronda,  high  up  in 
the  mountains. 

The  road  to  the  railway-station  w^as  well  w^orth  the 
long  w^alk.  On  the  coast  side  there  was  much  activity 
of  arriving  and  departing  steam-boats,  of  rowing-boats 
with  waving  ensigns  and  pennants,  their  crews  singing 
to  the  rhythm  of  the  oars  ;  a  busy  multitude  in  holiday 
costume  walked  about  in  the  morning  sun.  I  stopped 
for  a  moment,  for  when  we  had  come  a  little  further, 
where  the  road  was  quiet  and  deserted.  I  saw  a  woman 
standing  on  an  eminence  with  a  child  on  her  arm, 
looking  far  out  to  sea. 

''Do  please  come  on!"  cried  the  others.  "We 
shall  miss  the  train  if  you  loiter  so,  and  you've  seen 
that  so  often  before,  at  home.  ..." 

The  accusation  was  true.  Time  after  time  I  had 
seen  the  same  sight,  repeatedly  put  it  on  canvas,  and 
yet,  although  it  was  precisely  the  same  thing,  I  could 


THE    FERIA 


H3 


not  cease  relishing  the  distinction  between  that  same 
thing  seen  here  and  there.  With  us  the  figures  are 
wrapped  up  from  head  to  foot  against  the  cold,  the 
wind,  the  damp  ground  ;  grey  dow^ns  are  on  every  side, 
the  sea  is  grey,  grey  the  rainy  sky.  Here  mother  and 
child  were  but  sparsely  clad  ;  her  black  hair  fluttered 
along  the  woman's  temples;  a  brown  w^oollen  rag 
barely  sufficed  to  cover  the  nakedness  of  the  pair. 
And  this  group  stood  upon  a  height  looking  like  a 
statue  that  is  of  one  piece  with  its  pedestal,  and  the 
w^hole  stood  out  against  a  background  of  soft,  agate- 
blue  mountains,  hazy  and  delicate,  w^hile  the  foreground 
w^as  warm  and  sunny.  Eternally  the  same,  in  a 
thousand  different  forms  :  that  is  what  it  w^as. 

The   trains   are    in    no    hurry  in   this   part   of  the 
country,  and  w^e  did  not  miss  ours.     It  took  us  straight 
up,  along  great   mountain-sides,  where  no  vegetation 
grew,   but   from   time   to  time  a  silvery  stream   came 
dashing  dow^n.     We  arrived  at  mid-day,  hot  and  w^eary. 
No  omnibus,  a  porter  was  sufficient.     The  main  street 
containing  our  hotel  (an  odd  name  for  a  stable  with  a 
peasant's  dwelling  attached)  was  near  the  station.     The 
little   town    lay   swooning   beneath   the   sun ;    all    the 
windows  were  closed,  the  white  walls  reflected  the  sun- 
light in  a  blinding  fashion,  there  was  neither  man  nor 
beast  to  be  seen,  all  hid  themselves  from  the  common 
enemy.     We  too  entered  our  fonda  to  draw  breath  and 
refresh  ourselves  a  little  in  the  shade.     It  grew  better 
towards  evening;   we  ventured  to  go  and  stretch  our 
legs  before  dinner,  which  is  served  at  a  very  late  hour 
here,  and  in  the  quiet  of  the  evening  w^e  w^ent  for  a 
stroll  in  the  Alameda. 


■I 


i 


»  ,  I 


<■  i 


& 

i 


RONDA 


H5 


M^mMt^ 


RONDA 

It  was  a  still  and  wonderfully  fine  evening,  of  the 
kind  which  we  in  Holland  do  not  know ;  the  heat  had 
given  place  to  a  pleasant,  balmy  warmth,  the  sky  was 
red  with  gold,  sprinkled  with  small  azure  clouds,  and 
the  prominent,  thickly-verdured  mountain-tops  stood 
out  with  a  deep  dark  green  against  the  glow  of  the 
setting  sun.  Our  road  ended  in  a  high,  flat  rock,  with 
a  tall  iron  railing  to  it,  to  prevent  a  sudden  fall  into 
the  precipice  below.  There  we  lay  down  to  rest.  Far 
beneath  us,  along  sloping  ground,  lay  the  valley ;  great 

broad     shadows    covered    the    crooked    footpaths ;    a 

144 


mountain    stream    hurried    downwards    with    a    soft 
murmur,  drawing  a  gleaming  line  across  the  dark  plain. 
An  eagle,  with  wings  far  outstretched,  appeared  before 
our  eyes.     Screeching  shrilly,  he  described  wide  circles 
about  his  nest,  which  seemed  to  be  but  little  removed 
from  our  resting-place ;    it   must  probably  be  in   that 
deep  cleft  over  there,  by  those  hanging  bushes.     He 
was  soon  followed  by  a  second  eagle  and  three  young 
ones.     At  first  they  all  flew  round   in   a  circle;    then 
they  soared  straight  up,  to  the  furthest  height  our  eyes 
could  attain,  until  at  last  they  vanished  from  our  sight. 
It  grew  quiet  and  dark  around  us,  and  we  strolled  back 
to  our  peasant's  dwelling  for  dinner.     There  were  some 
other  guests ;    the   yellow  wine  of  the  country  found 
much   favour,    and  we   talked   and    smoked   freely  by 
candle-light. 

One  of  the  guests  at  table  was  a  German  commercial 
agent,  a  pleasant  talker,  and  an  experienced   traveller 
and  sportsman,   and  after  dinner  we  strolled   up   the 
main    street   together.     It   presented    a   very   different 
aspect  from  what  it  had  borne  in  the  daytime.     The 
deadly  stillness  had  made  way  for  a  cheerful  bustle,  for 
none  had  occasion  now  to  dread  the  heat  of  the  day, 
although  the  walls  still  glowed  with  it.     Young  women 
and  girls  walked  arm-in-arm,  busily  chattering,  up  and 
down   the   streets;   people  sat  taking  the  air' outside 
their  houses,  some  in  picturesque  groups  playing  cards 
by  the  light  of  a  single  candle,  or  enjoying  a  chat  with 
passing  friends. 

We  found  our  attention  fully  occupied  in  watching 
the  passers-by,  and  went  to  sit  in  front  of  an  inn.  At 
Algeciras,  I  said,  some  one  had  warned  me  that  "over 
there,  at  Ronda,"  I  should  find  ''nothing  but  brawlers 


W 


M 


lii 


ik 


'i 


146 


RONDA 


and  bravos,  horse-stealers  and  pickpockets ; "  but  our 
traveller  would  have  none  of  it. 

*'  I  know  the  Ronda  people  very  well,"  he  said. 
"There  is  a  large  trade  in  horses  done  here,  and  that 
is  a  business  in  which  you  always  find  a  good  deal  of 
quarrelling  and  cheating ;  also  the  poorer  part  of  the 
population  is  cunning  and  artful.  On  the  other  hand 
there  are  many  who  are  simple  and  childlike.  One  of 
my  friends,  an  elderly  gentleman,  but  belonging  to 
the  sturdy  race  of  men  you  find  here  in  the  mountains, 
told  me  how  he  had  once  gone  to  visit  an  uncle  of  his 
who  is  the  prior  of  a  small  monastery  some  little  way 
off.  He  was  anxious  to  get  home  early,  and  therefore 
did  not  return  by  the  road  he  usually  took  through  the 
mountains,  but  by  another  which  seemed  shorter  to 
him.  When  he  had  walked  some  distance,  he  dis- 
covered that  he  had  lost  the  path,  and  began  to  wonder 
how  he  was  to  find  his  way  home.  He  looked  round, 
and  saw  a  young  girl  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  rock  and 
throwing  stones  into  a  stream  which  came  noisily 
rushing  down  the  mountain-side.  He  went  up  to  her : 
she  was  a  pretty  child  of  about  sixteen,  with  a  basket 
by  her  side  which  she  had  filled  with  things  she  had 
picked  up  by  the  way — fruits,  horse-shoes,  rags,  and 
so  on. 

'* '  Qticrida  ! '  he  said.  '  Can  you  tell  me  how  to  get 
into  the  road  to  the  town  ? ' 

"The  child  looked  at  him  searchingly  with  her 
great  jet-black  eyes. 

'' '  Bonito  seiior^  she  said,  'you  may  thank  the 
Blessed  Virgin  you  came  across  me,  for  you  could 
never  find  the  road  ;  you  are  in  a  labyrinth  you  would 
never  cfet  out  of.' 

o 


RONDA 


147 


'"Come,  come,'  said  the  old  gentleman  crossly; 
'  tell  me  quickly  which  way  the  road  lies,  and  vaya  con 
Diosr 

'"  l^aya  con  Dios?'  repeated  the  girl.  'Give  me 
three  pesetas  and  I'll  show  you  the  road.' 

'"Three  pesetas  to  show  me  the  road!  I  would 
rather  lose  my  way  a  hundred  times  than  pay  to  be 
shown  it.     I'll  find  it  without  your  help.' 

"And  so  he  did.  He  hunted  about,  took  a  turn 
round  the  mountain,  and  found  the  road  he  wanted. 
When  he  reached  the  town,  the  market-place  was  very 
busy ;  a  number  of  horses  were  being  shown,  and  there 
was  much  shouting  and  bustle  of  horse-dealers  with 
their  whips  and  sticks.  In  this  crowd  he  felt  some  one 
pushing  against  him  and  passing  on ;  and  then  he  saw 
that  It  was  the  little  girl  from  the  mountains  She 
\\aved  her  hand  and  nodded  to  him,  but  he  pretended 
not  to  know  her  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
her.  When,  however,  he  reached  his  house  and  was 
about  to  go  in,  there  stood  the  little  figure  uith  the 
black  hair  and  the  bare  feet.  She  held  up  a  pocket- 
book  above  her  head,  and  said  : 

Caro  scfior,  you  dropped  this,  let  me  restore  it  to 
you.' 

Dropped  it ! '  cried  the  old  man.     '  You've  picked 
my  pocket,  you  sly  minx.' 

But  see,  bonito  seilor,'  said  the  girl,  '  I  am  giving 
it  you  back,  I  have  not  even  looked  inside  it.  Now  do 
think  charitably  of  me,'  she  continued,  with  her  head 
on  one  side ;  '  we  have  met  three  times,  and  just  think, 
I  have  a  blind  father,  and  a  sick  mother,  and  four  little 
brothers  and  sisters,  who  eat  a  lot  and  earn  nothing, 
and  then,'  she  went  on,  with  her  eyes  to  the  ground,  '  I 


BBHBr 


148 


RONDA 


have  a  sweetheart,  and  he's  left  me  in  the  lurch,  and 
that's  why  I  look  so  sad  to-day.' 

"And  then  she  put  out  her  little  hand  to  the  old 
gentleman  with  such  a  funny  gesture  that  he  could 
not  but  drop  a  peseta  into  it,  and  call  out,  '  yaya  con 
Dios'  to  her  as  he  went  in." 

This  and  other  stories,  mostly  of  thieves  and 
criminals,  whirled  through  my  head  as  we  entered 
our  inhospitable  inn.  The  man  who  led  the  way  to 
my  bedroom,  carrying  a  reeking  candle  in  a  tin  candle- 
stick, was  not  exactly  calculated  to  calm  my  timid 
imagination.  A  regular  brigand,  I  thought,  as  I  looked 
at  his  pale  yellow  face  with  its  crooked  red  nose.  His 
grey,  short-clipped,  greasy  hair  was  plastered  down 
on  his  head.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  wore 
nothing  besides  save  a  tight  pair  of  striped  trousers, 
through  which  his  bare  feet  protruded.  Nor  was  my 
room  particularly  cheerful :  a  very  large,  gloomy  apart- 
ment, with  an  iron  bed  wide  enough  for  three  little 
men  of  my  size  ;  red  octagonal  tiles  covered  the  floor ; 
there  was  no  other  furniture.  Yet  by  my  bed-side 
I  saw  two  pictures  ;  I  took  the  candle  to  them,  and 
by  the  flickering  light  found  that  they  were  coloured 
prints  of  saints.  One  represented  Our  Lady  draped 
in  violet-blue,  and  wafted  in  an  orange-yellow  sky ; 
the  other  St.  Peter,  sword  in  hand,  and  clad  in  a 
bright  red  gown  :  the  Prussian-blue  back-ground  was 
meant  to  represent  a  cave. 

As  I  undressed,  I  saw  that  there  was  a  very  large 
window,  through  which  I  could  see  the  dark  sky ;  the 
mountain  wind  whistled  round  the  house,  which 
seemed  to  creak  and  moan  in  every  corner.  There 
was  no  question  of  getting  my  door  properly  fastened  ; 


RONDA 


149 


the  lock  had  clearly  not  been  used  for  years,  and  the 
best  I  could  do  was  to  persuade  it  to  stay  ajar.  In 
Heaven's  name,  I  thought,  I  must  lie  down  under 
the  protection  of  the  saints  hanging  by  my  bed,  and 
I  laid  my  head  upon  the  pillow  with  the  resignation 
of  one  prepared  to  meet  his  doom.  I  remember  hear- 
ing a  dog  snifling  at  my  door,  and  then  I  fell  asleep, 
and  to  my  surprise  I  had  an  excellent  night.  I  was 
awakened,  however,  early  in  the  morning,  not  by 
robbers  with  their  hands  on  my  throat,  but  by  the 
bright  light  which  came  streaming  through  the  great 
curtainless  window. 

These  windows  at  Ronda  are  particularly  large; 
they  come  almost  down  to  the  ground,  and  are  built 
out  balcony-wise.  They  are  furnished  on  the  outside 
with  great  iron  bars,  fitted  with  little  doors,  through 
which  one  can  talk  with  any  one  outside  the  house. 
I  went  and  sat  at  my  window,  opened  the  little  barred 
doors,  and  let  in  the  delicious  fresh  air  from  the 
mountains.  Such  a  peaceful  view :  a  row  of  low 
white  houses,  before  me,  and  above  them  the  tall, 
grey  rock,  overgrown  with  hanging  plants,  and  moist 
with  the  morning  dew. 

We  were  waited  on  at  breakfast  by  our  bare-headed, 
bare-footed  giant,  who  brought  us  chocolate  and  dry 
bread  ;  the  butter  and  cheese  and  yellow  wine  which 
stood  on  the  table  we  left  untouched  :  we  could  not 
stomach  the  taste  and  smell  so  early  in  the  morning. 
But  the  chocolate  is  good  wherever  you  go,  and  the 
hard  bread  becomes  a  little  softer  when  you  soak  it 
in  the  chocolate.  We  would  have  given  much  for  a 
good  cup  of  tea,  but  the  refreshing  mountain  air  atoned 
for  everything. 


ni 


\ 


150 


RONDA 


Our  guide  was  awaiting  us  at  the  door  with  two 
mules  and  a  donkey  with  a  side-saddle  for  me.     We 
rode  into  the  mountains.     The  further  we  went,  the 
quieter   did    our   noisy  caravan    become,   for  we  were 
riding  down  a  very  steep  incline.     As  the  most  im- 
portant person  of  the  party,  I  was  held  in  my  saddle 
by  the   firm   hand  of  the  guide.     Not   only  was   the 
road   steep,  but   it   rolled   down  with   us  as  we  went. 
Great  lumps  of  rock    flew  right  and   left   and    rolled 
down  the  road,  falling  at  last  with  a  dull  thud  into  the 
abyss  ;  but  with   eyes  cast  up  and  a  stout  heart,  we 
found    this    exquisite    mountain    landscape    delightful, 
especially  when  our  path  led  along  the  edge  of  a  tall 
rock    beside   a   rustling   stream,  which   came   dashing 
down    from    above,    twisting    in    curve    upon    curve. 
Giddy    from    the    light    and    the    difficult    road,    we 
arrived  at  last  at  a  wide  and  open  plain.     Here  we 
alighted  and  let  our  beasts  feed  on  the  stubbly  grass 
that  grows  in  the  interstices  of  the  rocks.     We  lit  our 
cigarettes  and  enjoyed  the  lofty  and  spacious  panorama 
at  our  ease. 

We  heard  the  clickingof  a  water-mill  in  the  distance. 
My  young  fellow-travellers  were  very  anxious  to  go 
and  see  it.  The  guide  spoke  wonders  of  it,  but  dared 
not  advise  '' serior padre''  to  go  climbing  over  all  those 
rocks  and  gates.  As  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  was 
satisfied  to  stay  where  I  was.  The  three  of  them,  the 
guide  walking  ahead,  went  off  to  visit  the  mill,  pro- 
mising to  return  at  once. 

There  I  sat,  alone  in  that  great  lonely  expanse.  I 
heard  the  rattle  of  the  mill,  the  ripple  of  the  water,  the 
buzzing  of  flies  and  beetles.  Butterflies  hovered  around 
me,    lizards   crawled   over   the   rocks.     Left   all   alone 


RONDA 


151 


amid  this  wild  solitude,  I  began  to  perceive  that  I  was 
nothing  of  a  hero;  every  sound  and  movement  caused 
me  to  start,  a  bird  soaring  up  from  a  bush,  a  dog  bark- 
ing in  the  distance.  And  there,  as  I  live,  came  a  great 
brown  eagle  sw^ooping  dow^n  from  a  cleft  in  the  rocks 
right  above  my  head.  He  described  a  series  of  circles 
high  up  above  me.     I  grasped  my  stick,  as  though  I  could 


have  done  anything  with  that !  Fortunately  he  did  not 
seem  to  care  for  me  as  prey,  but  spread  his  great  pinions 
and  soared  onwards  with  a  swift  flight.  There  I  sat 
again,  peering  before  me,  always  alone.  The  time  hung 
heavily ;  they  might  have  been  back  by  now^  Again  I 
heard  a  sound,  this  time  from  below  ;  it  was  the  tinkle  of 
a  bell,  of  the  kind  carried  by  the  leader  of  a  herd  of  cattle. 
And  it  proved  to  be  so :  a  troop  of  black  and  brown 


1  *3 


\ 


!  H 


152 


RONDA 


goats,  followed  by  their  keeper,  came  climbing  up  the 
hillside   on  which  I   sat  amusing  myself  with  digging 
pebbles  out  of  the  ground.     The  goatherd  was  a  sturdy 
lad  of  exactly  the  same  hue  as  his  charges.     His  thick, 
jolly  head  was  brown,  as  was  his  short  leather  jacket, 
and    his    trousers   and  shoes  were  of  black  goat-skin. 
After  we  had  exchanged  the  usual   morning  greetings, 
the  somewhat  strong-smelling  bo)-  came  and  sat  down 
sociably  by  my  side.     Neither  of  us  could  make  much 
out  of  what  the  other  said,  but  I  produced  some  cio-ar- 
ettes  and  offered  them  to  him.     But  we  had  no  lights. 
"  jVcn/a,  nada^^  he  cried,  went  to  one  of  the  loose  heaps 
of   stones,  hunted  for  a  tuft  of  dry  grass,  stuck  it  in 
between,  and    in   a   moment   had  a  blaze.     I  tried  to 
express  to  him  by  signs  my  admiration   at  his  handy 
way   of  getting   a  light.      He    stood  up  again,   looked 
about  a   little  further,  and  returned  with  two  bits   of 
stick.     He    showed    them   to    me.    but    I    understood 
nothing.     Next  he  spread  a  little  hard  blade  of  grass 
over  them,  and  began  to  whistle  into  this  instrument 
until    it  resounded  afar.     Then    he  took  up  his  stick, 
flung  it  up  with  a  whirr  into  the  air,   until   it  went 
almost  out  of  sight,   and   quietly  and    calmly  caught 
it  in   his   hand  again.     ''That   is  useful,"  I  conveyed 
to  him,   "when    eagles    come  down  upon   your  herd." 
When  he  understood  that  I    was  talking  of  an  eagle, 
he  made  a  gesture  of  terror  and  alarm,  and  traced  the 
sign  of  the  cross  upon  his  breast. 

The  lad  stayed  with  me  quite  a  long  time ;  when 
his  goats  came  too  near  to  me  he  took  his  stick  and 
made  them  caper  about.  .  .  .  But  all  this  time  I  was 
waiting  for  them  who  had  not  returned.  I  had  just 
made  up  my  mind  to  climb  back  up  the  mountain-side 


RONDA 


'^'>Z 


with  my  young  companion  as  best  I  could,  when  I 
heard  the  well-known  voices,  and  the  three  stood  before 
me  again,  calling  out  to  me  about  all  the  fine  things 
they  had  seen.  As  always  happens,  they  had  no  idea 
that  they  had  been  away  too  long.  I  grumbled  a  little 
to  myself;  but  the  high  spirits  in  which  they  had  re- 
turned, and  my  herdsman's  comical,  incomprehensible 
leave-taking,  restored  me  to  my  good  humour.  Merrily 
singing,  our  cavalcade  rode  up  the  mountain,  and  when 
we  had  once  more  reached  the  rocky  ground  upon 
which  Ronda  is  built,  w^e  alighted  from  our  steeds,  and 
stared  down  with  contentment  along  the  mountain 
whose  steep  sides  had  afforded  us  so  much  that  was 
fine  to  look  at. 


u 


ti 


^  f 


;j, 


fi 


GRANADA 


155 


GRANADA 

JiARLV  the  next  morning  a  rocking-  omnibus,  drawn 
by  four  mules,  was  before  the  door  to  take  us  to  the 
station,  for  we  were  now  about  to  commence  the  finest 
part  of  our  journey:  Granada,  the  Alhambra,  the 
Sierra  Nevada.     It  was  not  a  great  distance,  but  the 

journey   was,    as   usual,   unnecessarily  protracted   and 

154 


I 


slow.  What  was  worse,  it  was  raining;  yes,  the  sky 
looked  grey,  and  as  we  proceeded,  the  clouds  gathered 
more  and  more  closely. 

Upon  our  arrival  at  Granada,  we  were  met  by  rolling 
thunder,  accompanied  by  torrents  of  rain.  Once  again 
the  road  to  our  hotel  was  a  little  journey  in  itself. 
The  town  lies  in  a  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the  surround- 
ing mountains,  but  the  Alhambra  portion  is  higher  up. 
A  steep  ascent  leads  to  where  it  stands,  far  above 
the  low-lying  city— a  broad,  well-kept  road,  planted 
on  both  sides  with  tall  olive-trees,  and  containing  two 
excellent  hotels  for  tourists  who  can  afford  a  little 
luxury.  Charming  rooms  were  placed  at  our  service : 
I  had  a  large,  well-furnished  sitting-room,  with  a  view 
of  the  mountains,  and  a  bedroom  looking  out  upon  the 
luxurious  green  of  the  garden.  I  threw  the  windows 
open  wide ;  a  flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  a  clap  of 
thunder,  bade  me  welcome  to  my  new  abode. 

Downstairs,  in  the  dining-room,  sat  a  number  of 
English  travellers,  young  ladies  and  men  ;  they  were 
discussing  a  little  anxiously  what  the  storm  would  end 
in  ;  but  the  gaily-dressed  head-waiter,  quick  and  fussy, 
insisted  that  it  was  only  a  inalo  mojiiejito,  a  passing 
mountain  storm,  which  here  generally  cleared  the 
atmosphere.  ''To-morrow  you  shall  see  something," 
he  said,  to  the  great  contentment  of  us  three  ;  for 
how  could  we  enjoy  the  Alhambra  in  the  rain,  with 
a  grey  sky  ? 

Next  day  the  head-waiter  was  loudly  applauded. 
The  weather  was  clear,  the  sky  blue,  and  all  things 
glittered  in  the  sun. 


4 


THE  ALHAMBRA 

-Lightly  clad,  with  cigarettes  in  our  mouths,  and 
armed  with  our  long  sticks,  we  started  on  our  tramp  to 
the  Alhambra.  The  broad  road  leading  up  from  the 
hotel  takes  you  of  itself  to  the  high  point  on  which  the 
Moorish  palace  stands.  This  road  offers  all  that  one 
dreams  of  in  connection  with  Granada :  a  broad,  gentle 
ascent,  with  tall  and  stately  trees  on  either  hand, 
through  which  the  distant  landscape  constantly  changes. 
Below,  next  to  you,  above  you,  play  the  brooks  that 
rush  down  from  the  snowy  tops,  to  join  the  stream  of 
the  Darro  below. 

At  last  our  road  is  obstructed  by  a  tall  and  broad 
wall  built  of  red  brick.  It  is  the  first  wall  of  the 
much-walled  palace.  A  small  gate  admits  us  to  the 
large  and  beautifully  laid-out  garden  that  serves  as 
a  fore-court  to  the  Alhambra.  At  a  large  fountain 
near  this  entrance  you  are  entertained  in  Spanish 
fashion  with  a  big  glass  of  mountain  water  and 
a  small  glass  of  anisette.  You  take  a  look  round; 
this  is  really  a  fortified  place,  with  turrets  and  loop- 
holes;  there,  in  front  of  you,  is  another  high,  red- 
brick wall :  that  must  be  the  Alhambra ;  but  what  is 
that  heavy-looking  building  at  the  side,  which  has  the 
air  of  a  ruined  European  palace  ?     It  is  one  of  history's 

tragedies.     Charles  V.  intended  to  build  a  palace  next 

156 


THE    ALHAMBRA 


157 


to  ''the  wonder  of  the  world,"  which  should  surpass 
the  latter  in  architectural  beauty;  but  it  was  never 
finished,  and  stands  there  stricken  and  neglected,  a 
lasting  proof  of  the  tasteless  apathy  and  tyranny  of 
the  princes  of  that  time.  Probably  a  portion  of  the 
Alhambra  was  pulled  down  to  make  room  for  it,  and 
at  present  it  spoils  the  appearance  of  the  space  by 
which  the  Alhambra  is  surrounded. 

But  the  view  of  the  Alhambra  itself  disappointed 
us  even  more,  with  its  bare,  dirty-red  wall,  where  we 
had  expected  a  magnificent  facade.     We  said  nothing, 
and    passed   through    the   entrance.     This    is   a  great 
gate,  a  building  in  itself,  erected   for  the  purposes  of 
defence,  and  sloping  upwards.     At  last  we  were  within 
the  building  and   stood   still   to  take  a  general  view. 
But  this  was  difficult,  for  our  attention  was  distracted 
by  all  sorts  of  details.     Everything  looked  smaller  to 
our  eyes  than  we  had  expected.     We  stood  in  a  gallery 
supported   by  short  and   very  slender  marble  pillars, 
enclosing  an  open  oblong,  dug  out  in  the  middle  to 
form  a   basin.     The  walls  are  covered  with   symbols 
and  adornments  of  all  kinds,  which  were  probably  at 
one  time  coloured.     There  were  inscriptions  in  Arabic 
letters  giving  quotations  from  the  Koran  bearing  on 
the   government   of   the   people.      Passing    from    this 
gallery,  you  come  to  others,  large  and  small,  some  of 
which  afford  unexpected  little  views  of  the  mountains 
or   of   other    halls    and    spaces.      All    of   them    have 
different  inscriptions  and  ornamentations.     One  of  the 
finest  is  that  containing  the  famous  Fountain  of  Lions : 
everything  appears   to   be    fashioned    in  white   stucco 
inlaid   with    marble,  and    the   ceilings,   or   rather   low 
vaultings,   are    remarkably    intricate   in   their   designs. 


Pi 


:^l 


w— 


158 


THE    ALHAMBRA 


presenting  an  appearance  of  fine  lace-work  or  droop- 
ing veils. 

We  looked  at  each  other  somewhat  disconsolately. 
In  order  to  enjoy  this  marvel,  one  must  be  an  architect, 
an  antiquarian,  or  an  historian  ;    but  for  us,  roaming 
about  as  laymen,  it  did  not  give  us  what  we  came  to 
see.     True,  there  are  fine  rows  of  pillars  and  galleries, 
there   are   water-basins    surrounded    by   flat    beds    for 
flowers  and  plants,  there  are  artistic  decorations  wher- 
ever you  turn;  but  .  .  .  this  is  the  great  "but":  the 
colours  of  the  letters  and  arabesques  are  effaced,  the 
fountains  do  not  play,  there  is  no  water  in  the  basins, 
and  in  the  tasteful  flat  borders  around  them  lies,  instead 
of  the  appropriate  flowers  and  plants,  a  brown  some- 
thing  that    looks    like   peat-mould  ;    the  flat   Oriental 
roofs  have  been   replaced   by  Spanish   roofs   with   red 
tiles  ;    the  eye  is  struck  on   all   sides   by  a  great   iron 
bolt  running  along  the  graceful  architrave  to  save  it 
from  falling  in.     There   is  no  such  thing  as  a  bench 
or  seat,  for  the  former  inhabitants  had  mats  spread  on 
the  ground  to  rest  upon,  or  low  divans  on  which  to 
take  their  meals. 

Imagine  that  you  hire  a  house  which  you  liked  ; 
you  saw  how  comfortably  its  inhabitants  lived  in  it' 
how  everything  was  in  full  use  and  flower.  Now 
comes  the  day  for  you  to  take  up  your  abode  there, 
and  you  are  shocked  at  the  inhospitable  appearance 
of  your  new  dwelling.  The  rooms  have  become  mere 
spaces,  every  trace  is  visible  of  damage  done  to  floors 
and  walls,  and  months,  perhaps  years,  are  necessary 
before  a  practised  hand  can  restore  to  this  house  the 
appearance  which  once  so  greatly  attracted  you. 

Now   reflect— this  fine  remnant  of  Arabian  archi- 


THE    ALHAMBRA  159 

tecture  has  been  deserted  for  centuries  by  its  Moorish 
inhabitants,  and  no  one  has  lived  there  since  their 
day;  reflect  that  hundreds  of  indiff'erent  people  have 
visited  it  during  that  long  period,  breaking  off*  portions 
or  using  them  for  a  multitude  of  purposes.  What 
can  possibly  remain  save  the  construction  and  the 
visitor  s  imagination  ? 

I  went  and   sat  at   the  foot  of  one  of  the  pillars, 

upon  the  marble  edge  of  one  of  the  dry  basins.    What  a 

sad  impression,  I  thought,  this  beautiful  building  makes 

upon  me.     It  is  as  though  one  had  made  a  long  journey 

to  visit  a  much-admired  woman  :  you  knock,  and  all  is 

still ;  you  are  admitted,  and  you  find  a  corpse.     There 

lies  the  noble  head,  but    the    kindly  eyes   are  closed, 

the  mouth  opens   no  more,  the  beautiful  hair  which,' 

brilliantly  dressed    and  wreathed   in   flowers,   held  all 

in  admiration,  now  lies  straggling  over  the  shoulders. 

Vou  can  still  see  the  exquisite  lines  of  the  neck  and 

bosom,   but  the  body  lies  pale  and  motionless  before 

you,  and   rather  than  give  way  to  ecstasy  at  all   this 

beauty,  you   burst  into  regrets  for  the  life    that  once 

inspired  it  and  now  is  gone  for  good. 

I  sat  long  thus,  head  in  hand,  musing  in  \ht  patio 
of  the  Lion  Fountain.  Once  I  looked  round  and 
thought.  Where  are  the  singing-birds,  which  should 
be  nestling  in  all  this  green?  where  are  the  praying- 
carpets,  where  the  long  Turkish  pipes  ?  where  are  the 
stands  of  arms,  the  shields,  the  plumes  and  banners  ? 
None  of  all  this  is  to  be  seen  ;  the  bare  walls  stand 
faded  and  discoloured,  the  inscriptions  have  become 
illegible,  the  decorations  almost  invisible. 

There  was  more  to  be  visited  :  a  small,  dark  stair- 
case took  us  down  to  the  bath-rooms.     Here,  when  the 


I'i.H 


i6o 


THE    ALHAMBRA 


fair  Scheherazade  lay  on  a  satin  divan,    not  as   now, 
when  all  is  chill  and  dark,  but  when  it  smelt  of  myrrh 
and  perfumed  oils — that  must  have  been  fine.     Then, 
through  these   conduits,    scented    water   ran    into   the 
marble  basins,  and  the  Moorish  king  entered  on  soft 
slippers,  while  in  the  little  music-gallery  in   the  wall 
above  eunuchs  played  softly  to  announce  his  arrival : 
all  that  must   have  been  enchanting.     But  we,   sober 
travellers,  with  our  walking-shoes,  with  their  unseemly 
clatter,    our   sticks    and    spectacles  :    what    do   we   do 
here?     We  look  at  the  open   rosettes,  artfully  sculp- 
tured over  our  heads  to   admit  the  light.     We  long 
for  this  light,  and  soon  leave  these  little  underground 
cellars,    preferring    once    more  carefully    to    visit    the 
little  apartments  above,  in  which  we  curiously  examine 
the  surprising  lines  of  perspective  presented   by  this 
mysterious  building.     I  say  mysterious,  for  it  is  now 
impossible  to  say  what  purpose  this  building  served, 
or  rather  for  what  it  was  used.     The  hall  known  as 
that  of  the  Ambassadors,  that  of  the  Two  Sisters,  or 
the  one  containing  the  Lion  Fountain  :  none  of  these 
are  able  to  bring  before  your  imagination  the  life  of 
the    former    inhabitants.      You    stand    admiring   petty 
details    or    closely     inspecting    decorations    cunningly 
applied. 

Yet  there  is  one  small  room  which  you  reach  when 
you  come  to  the  end  of  the  upper  gallery.  It  has  the 
pretty  name  of  el  Mirador  dc  la  Rcyma — the  Oueen's 
Boudoir.  Here  you  can  imagine  that  the  (jueen  really 
sat:  not  by  reason  of  the  beauty  of  this  low  room,  but 
because  of  the  front,  which  is  open  to  the  air,  sup- 
ported only  by  a  few  slender  pillars  ;  for  the  exquisite 
charm  of  this  so-called  boudoir  lies  in  its  ma^-nificent 


THE    ALHAMBRA 


i6i 


view  over  the  surrounding  landscape,  the  Sierra 
Nevada  and  the  Darro  river.  This  is  the  landscape 
which  Velasquez  so  often  took  for  the  back-ground  of 
his  portraits:  the  brown-grey  mountains  veined  with 
silvery  brooks,  the  clear  blue  sky  with  milk-white 
stripes.  If  you  wish  to  know  what  is  really  fine 
about  the  Alhambra,  it  is  the  marvellous  environ- 
ment that  arrests  your  glance  through  every  window 
and  doorway. 

At    some    distance   from    the    Alhambra,    after    a 
beautiful  walk  of  about  half-an-hour,  you   come  to  a 
small  building  in  the  same  style,  called  the  Generalife. 
This,   too,   is  in  a  very  ruinous  condition  ;    but  there 
IS  a  portion    near    the    principal    entrance,    standing 
amid     the     surrounding    garden,    which    is    kept     in 
preservation  by  the  present   owner.     There  again,   as 
in  the  Alhambra,  was  an  oblong  basin  bordered  with 
white  marble   edges;    but   here  fresh  water  streamed 
delightfully,   and   at   the   entrance,   against   the   walls 
on    either    side   of    the    door,    stood    tall    rose-bushes 
with  their  crooked  stems  and  bright  blossoms.     They 
gleamed  with  colour  against  the  grey  wall  and  reflected 
their  hue  and  shape  in  the  water  at  our  feet.     It  was 
like  a  water-colour  by  Fortuny,  as  he  with  his  delicate 
taste  knew  how  to  paint  it,  and   it  has  remained   in 
my  memory  as  a  thing  that  struck  me  with  its  beauty. 
Yes,   I  thought,  if  the  Alhambra  had  only  preserved 
its  character  in   this  way,  we  should   in   reality  have 
seen   something  to  remind   us  of  the  dreams  of  the 
thousand  and  one  nights;  but  now,  as  it  lies  before 
us  at  present,  it  but  brings  to  my  lips  the  only  Latin 
phrase  I  know:  ''Sic  transit  gloria  miindir 


I 


i:! 


i 


>  ' 


■■•••.*.«-w». 


T  Uii» 


GYPSIES 

IN  Granada  the  gypsies  prevail  in  greater  numbers 
than  elsewhere  in  Spain  :  it  is  here  they  have  their 
ghetto.  There  is  a  place  called  the  Albaycin  where 
they  all  live  together  ;  and  further  up  in  the  mountains 
is  a  wonderful  quarter  which  gives  us  a  good  idea  of 
these  wild,  vivacious,  and  picturesque  beings.  Here 
they  wander  about  alone  or  in  bands,  following  all 
sorts  of  industries  which  cannot  be  classed  under  any 
business  heading.  Wt  took  one  of  them,  who  was 
roaming  around  the  hotel  and  who  had  an  interesting 

head,  as  our  guide  and  introducer  to  his  racial  fellows. 

162 


GYPSIES 


163 


He  talked  little,  but  understood  us  readily.  He  was 
quick  in  producing  anything  we  needed,  and  he 
rode  any  animal  as  easily  as  a  professional  jockey  or 
postillion. 

One  sunny  morning  we  ordered  a  carriage  to  drive 
us   to   the    Latin    Quarter   of   the  gypsies.      We   sat 
waiting  on    the  steps  of  our  hotel,   which  were  pro- 
tected by  trees  against  the  sun.     Early  or  late,  a  troop 
of  gypsy  children  would  always  be  hovering  around 
the   doors   of  both    the   hotels.       Lively   little   brown 
figures,  poorly  clad,  but  with  now  and  again  a  red  or 
blue   ribbon   twisted  in  their  tangled   hair.       Dancing 
and    hopping  about,    playing  all    sorts   of  gymnastic 
pranks,    they    come    down    upon   you    with    the   true 
beggar  s  indifference  to  a  snarling  word,  and  keep  on 
returning  to  the  same  spot,  like  flies.     Whether  you 
give  them  anything  or  not,  it  is  all  the  same,  for  others 
come  in  their  turn,  tumbling  or  singing  before  you. 
We  were  glad  when  Bartok,  as  our /r^/^^  was  called, 
came  driving   up  with    his   team.      It  was  a  basket- 
carriage  drawn   by  four  steeds,   one  sorrier  than   the 
other,  a  conveyance  of  Bartok's  own  invention.     We 
were    laughed    at   a  little  by  the    bystanders,   but  we 
were    in    Don    Quixote's    country,    and    thought    this 
pleasanter    than    to    drive    about   Granada    behind   a 
straight  -  backed    coachman    with    silver    buttons    and 
prancing  horses.     The  gypsy  children  kept  on  shout- 
ing  and   begging  around  us   until  our  team  of  four 
trotted  on;   but  so  soon  as  we  had   started,   we   saw 
that  one  of  them   had  clambered  on  to  the  box  next 
to  Bartok,  our  driver. 

We  called  to  him  to  stop,  and  he  climbed  down  to 
ask  what  the  seiiores  wanted. 


ifi 


164 


GYPSIES 


"  Bartok,"  I  asked,  "who  told  you  to  let  that  little 
girl  sit  on  the  box?  " 

''  Perdori,  seDor,''  he  replied,  "but  she  takes  up  no 
room,  and  is  not  in  the  way/' 

"  Very  likely  ;  but  excuse  nie  if  I  say  that  I  am  a 
little  shy  of  those  brats,  and  do  not  care  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  company  they  carry  about  with 
them." 

''  Pcrc/o/i,  seuor',^  he  repeated,  "she  is  only  going 
to  ride  a  little  way." 

"  But,  my  man,  a  child  like  ////?//" 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  and  took  off  his  hat  with  a  sweeping 
bow  to  put  us  in  a  gentler  mood,  "  the  little  one  is  my 
daughter,  senorcs,  and  she  asked  her  father  if  he  would 
not  for  once  take  her  for  a  drive  in  a  carriage." 

Of  course  there  was  no  more  to  be  said,  and  we 
drove  on  merrily,  down  the  broad  road,  and  through 
Granada  to  the  Darro,  the  river  which  runs  through 
it.  Along  its  bank,  which  is  full  of  rocks  and  lumpy 
stones,  there  are  houses  and  streets,  the  latter  paved 
with  terrible  cobbles,  very  difticult  for  an  aged  pedestrian 
like  myself,  and  enormous  even  for  a  Spanish  town. 

This  quarter  of  the  town,  which  is  called  the 
Albaycin,  is  a  remarkable  instance  of  an  apparently 
useless  piece  of  ground  made  habitable.  In  the  middle 
of  it,  far  below  the  footpath,  runs  the  river,  which 
divides  the  two  overhanging  mountains ;  a  narrow 
bridge  connects  the  two  opposite  quarters,  and  the 
irregular  dwelling-houses  and  unsymmetrical  ground 
seem  to  harmonize  into  one  mass  of  inhabited  rocks. 
Here  and  there  you  see  a  touch  of  white — shirts  hung- 
up to  dry — or  a  patch  or  two  of  colour,  produced  by 
clothes  hanging  from  the  windows. 


GYPSIES 


165 


This  part  of  the  Albaycin  is  right  up  against  the 
mountains,  and  it  is  here  that  the  poorer  division  of  the 
colony  live.     Nothing  more  primitive  than  their  dwell- 
ings.    At  the  foot  of  a  prominent  eminence,  the  rock 
is  simply  cut  out  to  a  depth  sufficient  to  provide  ac- 
commodation for  a  family.      Doors  and  windows  are 
not  necessary:  when  it  rains,  a  shawl  is  hung  before 
the  entrance.      We   stopped  at  Bartok's  home.      The 
sun  shone  straight  into  the  grotto.     Red  cloths  covered 
the  tables  and  beds,  and  little  mirrors  and  knick-knacks 
were  hung  up  on  every  side.     The  inner  wall  of  the 
rock  itself  was  washed  blue.     There  was  no  fire-place, 
as  all  the  cooking  is  done  in   the  open  air;  near  the 
entrance   lay  a  heap  of  linen   ready    for  hanging   up. 
The    charming    lady    of    the    house,    a    great,     black 
harridan,    pulled    the   child    from    the    box,    screamed 
something   into    her   ear,    and   gave    her   a   couple   of 
thumps,  presumably  because  she  had  brought  nothing 
back  with  her;  then  she  fell  upon  her  husband  for  not 
at  once  producing  some  money,  now^  that  he  had  come 
driving  up  with  such  gentlemen  as  ourselves.     Scream- 
ing and  shrieking,  she  began  to  call  in  the  neighbours, 
and  Bartok  had  a  hard  time  of  it ;  but  when  the  quarrel 
began   to  exceed  all  limits  and  threatened  to  develop 
into  a  general  free  fight,  I  pushed  in  amid  the  horde 
and  thrust  some  silver  into  the  hand  of  the  fair  dame, 
who  withdrew,  grumbling,  and  but  half  satisfied.     This 
incident,  which  lasted  but  a  moment,  had  entertained 
us  vastly ;  the  wildness  and   rapacity  of  these  people, 
the    indescribable   disorder    that    reigned    before    the 
aperture  effected  in  the  beetling  background  :  all  this 
was    in    keeping,    and    was    warmly   coloured    by   the 
brilliant  rays  of  the  sun. 


1 66 


GYPSIES 


Meantime   Bartok  was  glad  to  climb  back  to  his 
box  and  to  whip  up  his  fiery  steeds  once  more.     We 
drove  further    into    the  mountains.      Here  the  hovels 
and  their  inhabitants  seemed  to  me  still  wilder  than 
those  on  the  high-road  ;  and  although  my  companion 
laughed  at  my  fears,  I  began  to  find  the  quarter  a  little 
too  close,  and  to  wonder  if  there  was  any  danger  of 
robbery  or  murder.     I  called  to  Bartok  to  turn   back 
or  to  reach  the  city  by  the  shortest  road.     But  there- 
upon Bartok  got  down  and  asked  whether  we  would 
not  visit  the  Gypsy  Captain,  who  lived  in  the  Albaycin, 
and  who  could  organize  a  special  dance  for  us.     My 
objections  were  disregarded,  and  when,  on  returning  to 
the  gy^psy  town,  w^e  pulled  up  at  a  remote  corner.  I 
thought  the  place  very  polizehuidrig.     This  corner  or 
promontory  in   the   rock  was  very  steep,  and  showed 
nothing  but  bare  walls;    one  of  them  had  a  door  to 
it.      Our  guide   crawled    up   the   steep   boulders  with 
some  difficulty  and  repeatedly  knocked  at  this  solitary 
door.      At   last  we    heard    a   grating   noise,    the   door 
opened,  and  the  head  of  a  very  old  little  fellow  came 
peeping  round  the  corner  to  see  if  there  was  anything 
wrong;    but  when    he    saw   Bartok's  familiar  features 
he  emerged  into  the  light  of  day.     He  proved   to  be 
an  old  but  sturdy  rascal,  who  had   probably  come  to 
look    prematurely  aged    by  long  habits  of  drink   and 
begging.     He  had  put  on  a  green  felt  hat  adorned  with 
tassels,  which   constituted    his   only   uniform  ;    for   he 
wore  a  shirt  full  of  holes  round  his  bony  black  neck 
and  body,  while  a   pair  of  tight,   red-striped    trousers 
and  a  short,  thick  stick,  which   he  waved   incessantly 
to  and  fro,  completed  his  costume.     Negotiations  were 
now  entered  upon  between  the  captain  and  the  g>^psy, 


GYPSIES 


167 


one  with  his  stick,  the  other  with  gestures  of  hands 
and  head.  The  man  tried  to  talk  to  us  himself,  but 
we  could  only  answer  with  laughter,  and  so  we  let 
our  native  guide  arrange  the  matter  for  us. 

It  was  a  strange  progress  in  the  evening  through 
this  wild  quarter,  illumined  here  and  there  by  a  dim 
quivering    lantern,    the    lights    in    the    little    houses 
shining  like  tiny  stars  amid  the  irregular  rocks.     Aided 
by  our  guide  and  leaning  on  our  sticks,  we  climbed  up 
the  difficult  stony  ascent  to  the  captain's  house.     The 
entrance  gave  us  no  very  favourable  idea  of  what  we 
should  find,  nor  were  we  mistaken  in  our  anticipation. 
A  small  staircase  led  to  a  poverty-stricken  apartment 
furnished  with  nothing  but  a  few  chairs  and  a  dilapi- 
dated divan  running  along  the  wall.     El  capitan  did 
not  appear,  but  some  girls  well  out  of  their  teens,  with 
sly  and  hungry  faces,  poorly  clad,  but  with  a  few  flowers 
in   their  hair,  sat  on  the  divan  and  the  floor.     They 
leaped  up  with  a  single  bound  to  welcome  us.     Bartok 
took  a  seat  on  the  ground,  in  the  middle  of  the  red- 
tiled  floor,  and  with  a  tambourine  in  one  hand  and  a 
pair  of  castagnettes  in  the  other  he  marked  the  rhythm 
of  the  dance,   which  was  executed   by  the  girls  with 
great  wide  steps  and  varied  movements  of  the  body  to 
the  measure  of  the  music.     Soon  drinks  were  brought 
in,  and  when  the  dance  was  over,  the  company,  gather- 
ing more  closely  around  us  than  we  cared  for,'  pressed 
us  to  send  for  all  kinds  of  further  victuals  and  drink. 
Great  joy  in   the  corps-de-ballet  when  we  consented. 
The    wine    and    the    food    speedily    took    effect,    the 
tambourine  rang  out  anew,  and  a  very  active  dance 
was   executed   with   shouts   and   cries.      The   dancers 
stamped  upon   the  floor,   sang  furiously  out  of  tune, 


1 


GYPSIES 

and  at  last  fell  down  heated  and  fatigued  by  our  side. 
Now  and  ag^ain  one  would  hold  out  her  hand  and 
with  a  pitiful  face  beg  for  an  alms  for  herself;  some 
cautiously  tried  to  slip  their  hands  into  our  waistcoat 
or  trousers  pockets ;  finally  the  whole  band  whirled 
around  us,  clamouring  aloud  for  money  and  presents. 

I  was  glad  when  my  companions  themselves  at 
last  began  to  grow  a  little  timid  and  anxious.  We 
all  rose  to  go,  but  were  stayed  by  the  mass  of  out- 
stretched arms  and  hands.  There  was  no  escape 
possible,  and  we  let  them  plunder  us  of  the  little  we 
had  on  us.  When  at  last  they  allowed  us  to  depart, 
and  we  expressed  our  dissatisfaction  to  llartok  in  no 
minced  words,  ''  Souo  pohrcs,  seuorcs,'^  he  said,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  ''  sojio pobrcs !'' 


A  SOLITARY  WALK 

1  HE  next  morning  early,  I  escaped  from  my  traxel- 
ling-companions  and  went  for  a  walk  alone  on  the 
sunny  mountain-road. 

The  city  lay  below,   in   a  steam  of  heat,  but  here 
everything  gleamed   with    moisture   and   sunshine.     I 
walked  up  the  broad  road  towards  the  Alhambra,  and 
when  I  had  gone  some  distance,  to  a  spot  where  one 
has   an    extensive  view  of  the  snow-tops   above   and 
the  high-road  below,  I  saw  a  big  stone  bench  between 
two  giant  cypress-trees.     I  sank  down  upon  it ;  it  was 
a  dreamy  spot ;  now  and  then   I  closed  my  eyes,  the 
better  to  hear  the  buzzing   in   the  branches  overhead 
the  clatter  of  the  river,  which  I  could  not  see,  and  the 
chirruping  and   singing  all    around    me.     Then  again 
I  would  look    up  at  the   bold  line  of  the  mountains, 
at    the    city   and    its    environs,    all    sharply   designed 
against    the    sky,  or   down    to  where   the  Darro  gave 
glimpses   of  itself  among   the  rocks.     Occasionally  a 
carriage   or   some  pedestrians  w^ould   go   by,  on  their 
w^ay  from   the  hotels   below^  or  the  Alhambra  above; 
but  as   I  was  sitting  with  my  back  to  the  road,  they 
passed  unperceived  by  me.     I  looked  up,  therefore,  in 
surprise  when  a  young  lady,  whom  1  had  seen  before 
at  my  hotel,  armed  with  a  single  eye-glass,   a  large 
parasol,  a  box  of  paints,  and  a  portfolio,  sat  down  upon 


1 70 


A    SOLITARY    WALK 


my  bench.  When  she  had  put  down  her  parasol  and 
further  ballast,  I  saw  that  the  arrival  of  this  English 
miss  had  put  an  end  to  the  hermit's  part  I  was  play- 
ing; she  was  clearly  tired  of  walking  and  determined 
to  rest  by  my  side. 

Ah,  I  thought,  ''a  young  colleague,"  plucked  up 
courage  to  address  her,  and  was  pleased  to  find  that 
she  was  not  too  prudish  to  reply.  I  began  to  talk 
of  how  easily  one  grew  tired  when  walking  up  and 
down  in  this  place,  especially  if  one  wanted  to  work. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  ''  My  family  are  driving  about 
the  neighbourhood,  but  I  thought  I  would  go  and 
romance  a  little  by  myself.  They  are  going  to  pick 
me  up  here." 

She  was  very  pretty  in  her  little  grey  costume,  with 
her  loose,  fair  curls,  on  which  a  charming  little  hat 
was  pinned  ;  even  the  glass  which  she  wore  screwed 
in  one  eye  did  not  look  bad.  After  staring  for  a  little 
while  at  the  view,  she  turned  to  me  again. 

''  Sir,"  she  said,  ''you  are  one  of  the  Dutch  painters, 
are  you  not,  staying  at  the  same  hotel  where  we  are  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

''Ah,"  said  she,  "you  could  do  me  a  great  favour, 
if  you  would." 

I  looked  up,  astonished,  but  she  had  already  drawn 
some  sheets  from  her  portfolio,  and  timidly  laughing, 
said  : 

"  Will  you  think  me  very  indiscreet  if  I  show  you 
my  drawings?  I  should  so  much  like  to  have  an 
artist's  opinion  on  my  work." 

"  Certainly,"  I  said,  "  if  you  wish  it.  It  will  not  be 
the  first  time  I  have  had  that  request  made  me." 

I   examined    the   drawings  she  spread   before  me: 


*l^ 


k   i 


A    SOLITARY    WALK  171 

they  were  wonderful  sketches!  I  looked  at  one,  I 
looked  at  the  other,  and  was  at  an  absolute  loss 
what  to  say. 

"May  I  explain  them  to  you?"  she  asked,  after  I 
had  long  hesitated.  "  The  title  of  this  one  is,  as  you 
see  written  on  it :  '  Thoughts  on  Observing  Nature.'  " 

"Ah  yes!"  said  I,  and  I  understood  that  I  had  a 
little  Jin-de-siecle  before  me. 

"  These  long  grey  lines,"  she  remarked,  "  exemplify 
the  endlessness  of  space,  far  away  and  vague,  and 
those  waved  red  stripes  round  about  are  the  thoughts 
which  go  up  and  down  and  in  all  directions.  On  this 
drawing  you  see,  'Hope  in  the  Future.'  You  see 
those  big  ascending  green  lines:  they  symbolize 
mquiry,  always  hopeful,  striving,  and  that  very  fine 
hne,  in  which  those  rays  end,  is  the  distant,  ali- 
enhghtening  future." 

"Very  nice,"  I  said;  "thank  you  kindly  for  show- 
mg  them  to  me ;  "  but  she  took  them  back  somewhat 
doubtfully,  and  said  with  a  sigh  : 

"  I  fear  you  don't  think  they  express  their  meaning 
clearly ;  after  all,  I  believe  that  old  painters  do  not  care 
for  this  manner." 

"  Oh,  you  are  mistaken,"  I  cried.  "  I  like  every- 
thing in  which  I  see  anything  interesting  or  beautiful, 
but  .  .  .  very  often  I  don't  see  it." 

She  went  on  chattering,  and  said  : 

"We  have  a  little  club  in  which  we  talk  nothing 
but  art.  We  try  to  create  a  different  art  from  that 
of  the  ordinary  picture.  You  know,  merely  to  copy 
nature  always  is  vieiix  jeu ;  we  only  use  nature  in 
order  to  find  symbols  for  our  thoughts,  and  then 
painting  from  nature  is  so  difi^cult,  much  too  difficult 


172 


A    SOLITARY    WALK 


for  us  ^nrls."  She  produced  a  pretty  scent-bottle  and 
snifted  at  it.  ''  I  have  been  a  little  upset,"  she  said, 
''by  a  book  I  am  readinj^^  Sorro^cs  of  the  Night,  it's 
so  delightfully  touchinj^-." 

She  wiped  away  a  little  tear,  and  sniffed  violently 
at  her  scent-bottle. 

''Come,  come,"  I  said,  '-I  am  j^lad,  at  least,  to  see 
that  your  complexion  has  not  suffered  from  all  this 
sentiment." 

She  looked  up  i^aily,  with  an  air  of  ^-reat  relief. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  asked.  "I  was  really 
afraid  I  was  beginning-  to  look  old  ;  now^  you  don't 
know  me,  and  are  impartial,  and  a  compliment  really 
does  me  good.  My  friends  already  say  that  this  hat 
is  too  smart  for  me." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  I  cried  ,  "  it  suits  you  perfectly, 
and  it  finishes  off  your  costume  admirably." 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  delighted,  "you  ought  to  see 
me  in  my  new  evening  frock  ;  I  know  you'd  like  that.  " 

Our  conversation  was  at  last  growing  really  interest- 
ing. She  wanted  to  tell  me  what  it  was  like,  and  ever 
so  much  more,  when  alas,  there  came  a  sound  of 
wheels,  a  carriage  stopped  where  we  were  sitting, 
and  our  talk  was  at  an  end  :  she  looked  round,  gave  me 
her  hand,  jumped  into  the  carriage,  and  she  was  gone, 
taking  her  pleasant  personality  w  ith  her. 

Once  more  I  sat  alone.  Charmed  by  the  beauty  of 
the  spot,  I  stayed  a  few  minutes  longer.  The  music 
of  the  humming-bees,  the  chirruping  crickets,  and  the 
soft  murmur  of  the  thousands  of  leaves  above  my  head, 
gave  me  a  sort  of  intoxication  which  almost  sent  me  to 
sleep.  I  shook  myself  awake,  and  returned  quickly  to 
my  hotel.     My  sunny  road   was   streaked  with  broad 


A    SOLITARY    WALK 


173 


patches  of  shadow,  which  moved  to  and  fro,  uniting 
and  going  asunder  again.  But  whenever  I  strayed  to 
the  right  or  left  of  the  high-road,  I  saw  the  lofty 
mountain-tops  in  the  distance,  covered  with  downy 
snow,  through  which  the  sun  shone  upon  little  streams 
meandering  in  threads  of  silver.  Below  this  came 
tints  of  rose  and  brown,  until  the  eye  rested  upon  the 
grey-green  slopes,  relieved  by  groups  of  trees  of  a 
darker  green,  and  displaying  villas  of  all  sizes  and 
shapes,  whose  white  walls  and  turrets  stood  out  clearly 
against  the  undulating  background,  with  its  dark 
patches  of  shadow. 

As  I  approached  the  hotel,  the  pretty  little  English 
girl  appeared  before  my  imagination  again,  and  I  hoped 
to  renew  my  pleasant  chat  with  her  after  lunch  ;  but 
it  was  not  to  be.  Before  the  door  of  the  hotel  stood 
a  large  omnibus,  laden  with  trunks  and  portmanteaus. 
A  w^hole  family  was  grouped  around  it,  preparing  to 
drive  off,  and  my  pupil  among  them.  She  waved 
her  hand  to  me  with  a  smile,  and  spoke  of  me  to  her 
friends,  who  gravely  bowed  and  raised  their  hats.  I 
politely  bowed  my  acknowledgments  and  sadly  entered 
the  hotel,  reflecting  that  this  was  another  acquaintance 
of  whom  I  should  never  hear  again. 


i 


.; 


<•! 


T 


IN  THE   MOUNTAINS 

My  friends   at    lunch    were    in    raptures   over   their 
expedition    in    the    mountains.       My   son   wanted    to 

repeat  the  trip  at  once  with  me;  but  our  poet  felt 
very  tired,  and  was  afraid  of  fatiguing  himself  still 
more,  so  that  he  preferred  to  go  to  bed,  as  he  often 
did.  There  he  lay  between  the  sheets,  smoking  a 
long  pipe  which  rested  on  a  table  by  his  side,  with 
a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pencil  in  his  fingers,  jotting 
down  an  observation  or  idea  as  it  occurred  to  him, 
and  slumbering  in  between.  In  this  way  he  would 
produce  but  a  few,  occasional  sentences;  but  these 
were  invariably  well-observed  and  exquisitely  polished 
in  style. 

Shortly  after  lunch  my  mount  appeared  before  the 
door,  consisting  of  a  handsome  grey  ass,  with  a  very 
comfortable-looking  side-saddle.  A  Murillo  boy  held 
the  bridle,  and  my  son  stood  in  front,  with  a  long 
whip  in  his  hand,  like  a  ring-master.  The  young 
donkey-driver  had  his  head  crammed  with  roads,  which 
he  knew  thoroughly :  some  that  took  three  days,  cover- 
ing the  whole  mountain;  others  that  lasted  a  day 
and  night.  But  it  was  arranged  that  our  excursion 
was  to  be  over  in  four  hours. 

This  riding  on  donkey-back  had  charmed  me  from 

the  commencement.     I  only  regretted  not  understand- 

174 


IN    THE    MOUNTAINS 


175 


ing  the  language  in  which  our  driver  communicated 
his  thoughts  to  the  donkey.  I  never  learned  what 
"  Hoot  tooy !  "  meant,  or  "  Pirr  he  !  "  or  "  Hot,  hot !  " 

Onward    we    went,    leaving    the    high-road    for    a 
gently-sloping  lower  portion  of  the  valley,  whence  we 
soon   struck   a  steeper   road,  which   ran   upwards   for 
a  long  distance.     This  was  a   poor   part  of  the   trip, 
\vithout  any  view  or  interest.     Here  and  there  stood 
half-ruined     houses,     including    a    hospital     blistered 
by    the    sun.       But    presently    it    became    better,    the 
road    grew   rich    in    plants   and    luxuriant   trees,   and 
as  we  went  higher  the  ground   became   covered  with 
red  and  yellow  flowers.     These  were  replaced  in  their 
turn    by   ragged   moss    and    stones,   and    at    last   we 
attained  the  view  over  the  vast  extent  of  the  sierra, 
which   was   outlined    in    undulating   hills   with   great' 
deep  shadows,  and  topped  by  the  snow-caps  high  up 
against  the  sky.     Here  we  reached  a  plateau  affording 
a   view   of    the   whole   glittering   range   of  snow-clad 
mountains,    which    stood    before    us    in    their    varied 
shapes,   round   or   sharply  pointed.      Here  and  there 
the  thunder  rolled  through  space,  for  the  air  was  full 
of  clouds ;   mists  rose  and  glided  over  the  mountain- 
tops,    concealing   them    from   view,  or   splitting  them 
into  extraordinary  sections.     The  finest  sight  was  when 
the  great  shadows  of  the  clouds   came  driving  over 
the  ground,  suddenly  disappearing,  and    then   return- 
ing.    Sometimes  we  were  hemmed  in  by  dark  patches 
of  shadow,   and    the  next  moment  they  would  speed 
past,  and    the   mobile  landscape  became  a  wonderful 
tournament  of  gleams   of  light   pursued  by  shadowy 
giants.     Then  the  thunder  would  sound  again,  or  with 
a   strange   roar  great   heaps   of  snow  roll   down   the 


176 


IN    THE    MOUNTAINS 


mountain-side;  the  wind  blew  violently  around  us, 
and  despite  the  powerful  sunshine  the  air  was  cold 
and  bitinir. 

''  Do  you  see  a  cross  standing-  near  that  withered 
tree?"  whispered  the  donkey-driver.  *'  There  is  a  large 
hole  there.  A  saint  was  murdered  there  and  fluni'- 
into  the  hole ;  I  should  not  like  to  be  here  late  at 
night ;  they  say  there  are  ghosts." 

*' Look,"  I  cried,  "that's  very  curious:  there  come 
the  ghosts,  out  of  that  dark  corner." 

The  frightened  lad  buried  his  head  in  my  saddle. 
A  great,  silvery  cloud  had  detached  itself  in  flakes 
from  the  rest,  and  came  sailing  straight  down  upon  us. 
It  was  a  regular  ghostly  shape,  moving  as  though  with 
arms  and  legs,  and  followed  by  other  mists,  which 
passed  above  our  heads. 

"  It's  all  right,  Pedro,"  I  said  ;   "  they're  gone." 
''  Oh,"  he  cried,  "  if  I  had  been  alone,  I  should  have 
died  of  frio^ht !  ' 

The  majority  of  mouiitain-dwellcrs  are  afflicted  with 
spectres  and  witches,  and  in  truth,  as  we  stood  here 
in  this  endless  wilderness,  amid  this  incessant  wind, 
which  often,  at  tliis  height,  increases  to  a  raging  storm, 
we  could  easily  understand  how  the  inhabitants  of 
these  regions  give  way  to  the  superstition  that  things 
happen  here  at  night  which  no  one  who  has  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  present  escapes. 

We  had  approached  the  road  that  leads  up  to  the 
glaciers,  but  here  we  turned  back,  leaving  it  to  others 
to  admire  these  natural  wonders  more  closely.  We 
began  the  descent,  and  leaving  the  bare  mountain-side, 
on  which  there  was  no  sign  of  a  footprint  visible,  we 
came  to  a  path  with  small  \erdured  slopes  on  either 


if» 


IN    THE    MOUNTAINS  177 

side,  leading  to  a  spot  from  which  we  saw  the  city  of 
Granada  and  the  Alhambra  spread  out  before  us  like  a 
panorama.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  as  we  descended 
by  the  river  s  bank,  the  water  and  the  sky  were  gold 
the  surrounding  rocks  dark  emerald,  and  all  the  trees' 
the  villas,  and  our  hotel  were  wrapped  in  melting 
rose. 

When   the   last    King  of  Granada  was  driven   by 
conquest    from    his    capital    and    the    Alhambra,    he 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  wept.     On  the  spot  where  he 
shed  these  tears  a  monument  was  raised  which  to  this 
day  is  known  as  "The  Moor's  Last  Sigh."     For  us  no 
monument  will   be  raised,   though  we  too  bid  a  sad 
farewell  to  the  place  where  we  had  seen  so  much  that 
was  new  and  beautiful,  and  where  we  had  wandered  in 
an  ideal  world.     Now  we  had  a  wretched  twenty-four 
hours'   railway  journey  before  us,   in  order  to  travel 
straight  from  Granada  to  Madrid.     We  sent  to  secure 
a  sleeping-carriage  or  a  separate  compartment,  which 
alone  would  make  this  tedious  journey  endurable. 

Our  hotel  porter  and  the  railway  officials  sought  in 
vain,  and  at  last,  at  our  wits'  end,  we  sent  for  the 
station-master.     After  a  long  search,  this  functionary 
was   produced.     He   came   lounging  along  with   true 
Spanish  indifference.     His  hands  were  in  the  pockets 
of  his  wide  trousers,  a  cigarette  hung  from  below  his 
ragged  moustache,  his  red  cap  lay  tilted  back  on  his 
woolly,  grey  head,  as  though  it  annoyed  him  to  have 
to  wear  this,  the  only,  symbol  of  his  office.     He  re- 
assured us,  and  with  an  air  betokening  that  everything 
was  always  in  order  where  he  was  concerned,  strolled 
away  again.     After  some  delay,  he  sent  for  us  to  come 
to  him.     He  had  had  a  mail-carriage  cleared  for  us; 

z 


I! 


178 


IN    THE    MOUNTAINS 


it  contained  just  three  seats,  a  looking--glass,  and  a 
little  table  on  hinges.  We  were  saved.  We  could 
dress  and  undress  undisturbed.  We  could  smoke 
and  let  in  as  much  fresh  air  as  we  pleased  ;  the  floor 
was  our  bedstead,  the  table  our  dining-room  ;  the 
mirror  served  to  show  us  how  sadly  our  toilet  needed 
attention. 

Wine,  chickens,  hard-boiled  eggs  and  bread  were 
acquired  for  the  journey ;  we  bought  three  tumblers ; 
and  newspapers  were  improvised  into  napkins  and 
table-cloths.  But  we  discovered  later  that  to  dissect 
and  consume  cold  fowl  without  plates,  knives,  and  forks, 
demanded  an  aptitude  with  which  we  were  not  pre- 
pared ;  but  we  took  example  by  the  Moors  we  had 
visited,  and  all  three  squatting  on  the  floor,  we  pulled 
off  in  turn  what  we  needed,  so  far  as  bones  and  sinews 
would  permit,  and  devoured  our  chickens  in  this 
primitive  manner.  With  our  loose  travelling-wraps 
floating  about  our  lightly-clad  bodies,  we  did  not  look 
so  unlike  a  troop  of  True  Believers.  I  seem  to 
remember  that  we  ate  and  drank  more  than  was 
absolutely  necessary;  at  least  we  reached  the  capital 
in  a  very  jolly  condition,  and  did  not  understand 
what  the  o-uard  wanted  when  he  told  us  that  we  must 
aliirht. 


i;'  'i: 


■'■^**UB- 


MADRID    REVISITED 

1  HE  big  town,  with  its  own  peculiar  noise  and  move- 
ment, welcomed  us  once  more  among  its  many  guests, 
and  we  climbed  into  an  omnibus  and  felt  as  much  at 
home  as  though  we  had  lived  in  Madrid  for  years. 

A  sad  accident  had  taken  place  during  our  absence. 
The  greatest  of  bull-fighters,  the  adored  Espartero, 
had  been  killed  by  an  unexpected  thrust  from  a  huge 
bull  in  the  Plaza  de  Toros,  in  the  presence  of  clamour- 
ing and  applauding  thousands.  His  photographs  hung 
in  every  shop-window,  in  plain  dress,  in  bull-fighters 

costume,  and  on  his  death-bed,  surrounded  by  flowers 

179 


i8o 


MADRID    REVISITED 


and  laurel-wreaths.  Posters  with  mourning  borders 
announced  the  titles  of  pamphlets  and  poems  upon 
Espartero  and  his  tragic  death.  All  the  newspapers 
contained  verses  and  pictures  illustrating  the  leading 
incidents  in  the  dead  hero's  career. 

At  a  corner  of  the  Calle  San  Geronimo,  which 
sw^arms  with  strollers  between  five  and  six  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  a  crowd  had  collected  round  a  blind 
singer.  It  was  an  old  woman,  w  ith  a  brown,  wrinkled 
skin  ;  a  long,  grey  shawl  covered  her  shoulders,  but 
big,  yellow  flowers  were  twisted  into  her  grey  hair. 
She  sang  a  song  on  Espartero,  bemourning  the  great 
man's  fate,  and  at  the  same  time  presented  to  her 
audience  a  basket  containing  matches,  printed  ballads, 
and  sweetmeats.  The  guitar  accompaniment  was  exe- 
cuted by  a  dark-eyed  child.  But  the  most  interesting 
feature  was  the  audience,  which  listened  eagerly  to  the 
singing,  and  bought  the  ballad  which  was  the  topic  of 
the  day :  a  badly-printed  broadsheet  adorned  with  a 
wonderful  smeared  wood-cut,  supposed  to  represent 
a  man  being  crushed  by  a  bull.  It  bore  no  price ; 
every  one  threw  what  he  pleased  into  a  little  tin  dish 
that  stood  in  the  basket.  One  young  lady  was  greatly 
moved  ;  she  was  a  kinswoman  of  the  famous  man's,  and 
told  the  bystanders  all  sorts  of  things  that  I  could  not 
understand.  She  pulled  a  photograph  from  her  pocket 
and  displayed  it.  The  whole  circle  came  crowding 
round  her  to  admire  it.  A  poor  woman,  with  a  child 
on  her  arm,  made  the  child  lean  forward  and  imprint  a 
tender  salute  upon  the  portrait  of  the  worshipped  bull- 
fighter, and  then  triumphantly  turned  round  to  receive 
the  acclamations  of  the  surrounding  audience. 

In  the  evening  we  visited  a  popular  theatre.     It 


MADRID    REVISITED 


i8i 


was  a  difficult  matter   to   find    our  way  through   the 
steep,  badly-paved  streets,  dark  as  night,  and  swarm- 
ing with  busy  or  loitering  groups.     When  we  arrived 
it    was   busier   than   ever.      Hawkers,    visitors,    idlers 
jostled   each    other   in    a   continuous  whirl ;    for   what 
makes  the  confusion   here  so  great  is  that  one  only 
pays  to  see  one  piece.     They  usually  give  three  or  four 
in  an  evening;    so    that    those  who  are  leaving  after 
seeing  one  piece  run  up  against  those  who  wish  to  see 
the  next.     By  dint  of  much  pushing  and  wriggling  we 
reached    the  pay-box.     You  can   understand   that  the 
tickets  are  cheap  for  each  piece,  and  the  price  is  certainly 
very  small  for  the  excellent  acting  that  we  saw.     The 
auditorium  itself  is  an  unpleasant  hole,  with  no  attempt 
at  decoration  or  comfort.     The  Spaniards  on  the  whole 
do  not  appear  to  pay  much  attention  to  these.     The 
drop-curtain  was  quite  plain,   and  w^as  raised  after  a 
short  wait. 

The  play  was  very  amusing.     A  fiery  old  general  is 
in  love  with  a  frivolous  little  milliner,  and  although  he 
is  entitled  to  regard  her  as  his  mistress,  he  thinks  that 
he  has  all  sorts  of  reasons  to  suspect  her  of  making  a 
fool  of  him.     Half-crying,  half-laughing,  she  beseeches 
him  to  desist  from  accusing  her  of  infidelity.     This  role 
of  Nicolette  was   so   prettily  and    wittily  played,   she 
petted  and  caressed  the  old  grumbler  so  delightfully, 
that  the  audience  roared  and  roared  again  with  laughter 
and  applause.     At  last  the  general  lights  upon  the  man 
he  suspects,  and  is  about  to  inflict  chastisement  upon 
him,  when  to  his  great  dismay  he  learns  that  he  is  in 
a  false  position,  and  that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  the 
lawful  spouse  of  his  inamorata.     Great  consternation 
on  the  part  of  all  three,  until  the  charming  lady  succeeds 


III 


l82 


MADRID    REVISITED 


in  persuading  her  husband  that  the  general  is  an  old 
friend  of  her  father,  that  he  had,  in  fact,  once  saved 
that  worthy's  life,  and  that  he  is  bound  therefore  to 
visit  her  from  time  to  time.  The  whole  thing  was 
played  briskly,  clearly,  and  merrily,  and  with  consider- 
able natural  and  unaffected  talent. 

We  also  visited  the  great  Royal  Library,  and  as 
we  came  provided  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
a  well-known  literary  man,  we  were  shown  in  to  the 
principal  librarian.  It  took  some  time  before  all  the 
ceremonies  had  been  observed,  and  we  were  walked 
through  a  number  of  rooms  filled  with  thousands  of 
volumes.  At  last  we  reached  a  large  and  lofty  apart- 
ment. Near  a  tall  casement,  opening  on  to  a  sunny 
garden,  sat  a  clerical  gentleman  in  a  long  black  cassock. 
His  bald  skull  shone  in  the  sunlight;  he  was  a  real 
model  for  the  gloomy  Ribera.  With  a  stately  gesture 
he  bade  us  be  seated  and  asked  what  books  or  manu- 
scripts we  wished  to  see.  But  that  was  not  our  object ; 
it  would  take  long  to  make  a  choice  out  of  so  many 
books,  and  besides,  we  were  travelling,  and  were  not 
inclined  to  sit  down  and  read.  But  we  asked  for  the 
collection  of  prints,  and  were  taken  along  a  quantity 
of  stairs  and  galleries  to  the  print-rooms.  Here  the 
keeper  asked  us  what  he  could  show  us,  and  I  re- 
membered my  friend  Van  Witsen's  injunction  on  no 
account  to  miss  the  bequest  which  a  certain  Conquerra 
had  made  to  the  Spanish  State.  When  I  had  uttered 
this  request,  the  keeper  of  the  prints  flung  his  arms  in 
the  air,  and  exclaimed  : 

''  That  is  eighteen  hundred  portfolios  full  !  I  can't 
possibly  show  you  all  of  them ;  we  are  still  busy 
arranging  them.     But,"  he  continued,  politely  handing 


( 


MADRID    REVISITED 


^83 


us  chairs,  and  growing  calmer  as  he  spoke,  "  make  a 
choice :  which  do  you  wish  most  to  see  ?  " 

We  asked  for  one  thing  and  another :  Durer  s 
wood-cuts,  Goya's  etchings.  That  was  easily  done; 
he  had  exquisite  proofs  of  the  very  best  impressions. 
But  now  I  realized  w^hy  there  were  so  many  hundred 
portfolios  filled  with  this  bequest.  Each  portfolio 
contained  ten  or  fifteen  prints  and  was  filled  up  with 
blotting  and  tissue  paper,  and  I  thought  to  myself 
that,  had  it  been  left  to  me,  I  could  easily  have  reduced 
the  eighteen  to  one  hundred.  But  that  is  just  like 
Spain:  ever>'thing  must  always  be  done  in  the  large 
and  grandiose  manner;  everything  must  be  made 
to  take  up  room.  True,  there  is  always  room  for 
everything. 

In  the  same  way,  the  Royal   Palace  is  enormous, 

and  is  surrounded  by  parks,  gardens,  and  walls,  which 

turn  it  into  a  sort  of  town  in  the  midst  of  this  large 

city.     As  the  clock  is  on  the  stroke  of  noon,  a  royal 

parade  takes  place,  and  the  court-yard  is  full  of  soldiers 

and   lookers-on.      Flags  and   banners   of  every  shape 

and  colour  appear  at  all  the  towers  and  balconies,  and 

a  glittering  staff  of  mounted  officers  and  subalterns  is 

drawn   up   on   horseback  before  the  palace   to  receive 

commands  from  adjutants  who  trot  in  and  out  of  the 

gate.     There  is  as  much  fuss  as  though  a  revolution 

were    imminent.      Suddenly    the    great    palace    clock 

strikes    twelve  ;     forty     horsemen     with     long     silver 

trumpets  sound  a  signal,  and  a  military  band  strikes 

up.      They  seemed   to  me   to   play  with  great   spirit, 

and  the  listening  multitude  repeatedly  applauded,  and 

cheered   the  little   King,  who  appeared  at  one  of  the 

windows. 


184 


MADRID    REVISITED 


It  was  a  very  royal  display ;  and  when  the  King's 
carriages  drive  past,  drawn  by  I  don't  know  how  many 
horses,  and  escorted  in  front,  at  the  sides,  and  behind 
by  glittering  lackeys  in  old-fashioned  gala  liveries, 
with  the  horses  and  coachmen  adorned  with  flowers 
and  ribbons,  brocade  and  gold-lace,  one  would  almost 
believe  that  the  great  days  of  the  Royal  House  of 
Spain  are  not  yet  past. 


TO   VALENCIA 

At  last  we  took  leave  of  Madrid  ;  our  plan  was  to 
travel  to  Valencia,  next  to  visit  Barcelona,  and  then 
return  to  France.  And  so  we  were  on  our  way  north. 
Yet  our  route  was  but  northerly  by  comparison  ;  for 
if  there  is  anything  warm  and  southern,  full  of  colour, 
life,  and  vegetation,  it  is  the  road  from  Madrid  to 
Valencia. 

After  the  train  has  left  iMadrid,  which,  with  its  large 
buildings,  its  tall  steeples  and  numerous  suburbs, 
remains,  even  at  a  distance,  a  city  of  wide  lines,  it 
crosses  the  little  Manzanares.     A  small  river  indeed  ; 


111: 


I8S 


2  A 


f 


m 


i86 


TO    VALENCIA 


yet  with  its  winding  banks,  along  which  grow  stately 
trees,  and  the  wonderful  water-lilies  covering  its  surface, 
this  little  river  looked  very  entrancing;  and  I  thought 
what  a  charming  walk  it  must  be,  of  an  evening,  along 
its  banks.  But  the  train,  as  usual,  tore  us  cruelly 
away,  while  striving  to  console  us  by  ever  offering 
something  new  to  our  view.  Quarries  appeared,  where 
we  saw  men  loading  carts  and  vans  with  freestone. 
Then  we  flew  across  the  Tagus,  and  passed  along 
corn-fields,  surrounded  by  fruit-trees,  till  we  came  to 
Aranjuez,  sung  by  Schiller.  The  train  stopped  here 
for  a  while.  It  is  a  high-lying  town,  which,  with  its 
white  walls  and  steeples,  seemed  to  hang  in  mid-air, 
so  deep  and  clear  were  the  hues  of  the  surrounding 
hills,  which  give  glimpses  of  the  little  town  through 
the  trees.  We  saw  school-children  walking  along  the 
road,  the  little  ones  first,  then  the  elders,  escorted  by 
two  teachers,  nuns  from  a  neighbouring  convent,  tall 
and  stately  figures  in  black,  with  stiff,  white  head- 
dresses ;  a  crucifix  hung  at  their  knees  from  a  long 
cord.  We  heard  sounds  of  singing,  but  the  noise  of 
the  engine  drowned  everything  as  we  steamed  away 
again. 

Salt  lakes  came  next,  as  though  to  show  us  some- 
thing quite  new,  the  edges  of  the  water  white  with  salt. 
A  little  further,  wide  spaces,  with  herds  of  great  bulls, 
and  then  a  vast  extent  covered  with  wind-mills,  yes, 
wind-mills,  and  more  adapted  for  fighting  purposes  than 
ours  at  home.  But  one  is  constantly  being  reminded 
of  Don  Ouixote  when  travelling  in  Spain  ;  and  Sancho 
Panza  and  the  Knight  himself  figure  in  the  crowds  at 
every  turn. 

It  grows  pitch  dark  :    we  are  in  a  tunnel,  a  long, 


TO    VALENCIA 


187 


cold  tunnel,  and  the  train,  which  never  runs  particu- 
larly fast,  goes  slower  than  ever.  But  ah,  when  we 
emerge  I  Olive-trees  by  hundreds  grow  along  the 
road  and  surround  the  rice-fields,  which  are  intersected 
by  little  glistening  streams  of  water;  and  then  at  last 
we  enter  Valencia,  which  really  deserves  the  name 
which  the  Spaniards  give  it:  Htterta  de  rEspana, 
the  Garden  of  Spain.  Here  aloes  point  their  prickly 
foliage  through  the  grey  rocks,  and  roses  grow  wild  on 
every  hand.  Palm-trees  lift  their  curious  crowns  on 
high,  and  orange  and  citron-trees,  green  and  gold,  line 
the  road-sides.  It  is  amid  such  surroundings  that  the 
city  of  Valencia  is  approached. 


f 


THE  CID 

As  I  walked  the  streets  of  Valencia,  I  looked  out  on 
every  side  for  busts  and  statues  of  the  Cid,  for  the  town 
is  called  Valencia  del  Cid.  This  is  the  place  of  his 
deeds  of  heroism,  celebrated  in  song  and  story;  but 
in  none  of  the  tortuous  streets,  in  no  market-place, 
could  I  find  a  trace  of  any  monument.  The  town 
struck  me  as  very  ancient,  lively  and  full  of  move- 
ment ;  but  as  far  as  the  Cid  was  concerned,  I  had 
to  wait  until  I  returned  to  my  room  at  the  hotel. 
Here,  above  the  wash-hand  stand,  between  two  small 
mirrors,  hung  a  little  old  print,  with  the  inscription, 
''  Rtiy  Diaz  de  Bivar^'  and  below,  in  large  letters, 
''  El  Cid  Canipcador!' 

In  this  way  my  good  genius  sought  to  comfort  me 
and  to  allay  my  anxiety  for  the  fame  of  the  Cid  ;  but 
this  stupid  portrait,  when  compared  with  the  great 
heroic  poems,  with  Herder's  Cid,  and  Heine's  poem, 
and  Corneille's  tragedy,  was  little  indeed.  The  Cid 
Campeador  had  snatched  this  fair  province  of  Valencia 
from  the  Moors.  He  was  the  idol  of  his  followers  and 
soldiers  and  the  terror  of  the  Moors.  For  years  the 
latter  invested  the  district,  without  ever  succeeding  in 
recapturing  the  city.  The  legend  relates  how,  when 
the  Cid  lay  dead,  the  Moors  suddenly  mustered  their 
troops  and  marched  against  the  town,  for  the  Cid,  their 

1 88 


THE    CID 


189 


great  adversary,  was  no  more.  All  fled  before  them, 
and  the  few  officers  and  soldiers  within  the  walls  saw 
themselves  surrounded  without  hope  of  relief.  Then 
suddenly  one  of  them  thought  of  setting  up  the  dead 
Cid  in  full  armour  on  his  famous  horse  Babieca ;  and 


%^ 


"•^yv^^EL* 


the  fear  of  the  well-known  figure,  seated  on  its  colossal 
steed,  worked  so  powerfully  upon  the  imagination  of 
the  Moors  that  they  were  driven  back  and  the  little 
Spanish  force  found  an  outlet  and  escape. 

Valencia  is  full  of  colour  and  light ;  so  much  light 
indeed  that  the  narrow,  crooked  streets  are  covered 
with  all  sorts  of  cloths  against  the  sun,  stretching  from 


190 


THE    CID 


one  gable  to  the  other.  These  great  patches  of  shadow 
give  a  very  unusual  appearance  to  the  streets.  Our 
hotel  had  a  large  canvas  blind,  beneath  which  the  cafe 
was  kept.  I  used  to  select  a  comfortable  chair  (not 
easily  found  in  a  Spanish  cafe),  and  have  it  placed  on 
the  pavement,  so  that  I  could  watch  all  the  movement 
and  people  in  the  street.  It  was  certainly  worth  while. 
Never  did  I  see  beggars,  monks,  and  dignitaries  of  the 
Church  in  such  great  numbers  and  variety.  There 
must  have  been  a  seminary  in  the  neighbourhood,  for 
I  would  see  troops  of  young  men  in  black  cassocks, 
with  scapulars  and  bare  heads,  walking  past  my  cafe. 
Now  and  then  a  lord  spiritual  would  come  into  view. 
One  caught  my  attention  more  than  the  rest.  He 
carried  his  voluminous  figure  with  long  and  stately 
steps;  on  his  large  nose  a  pince-nez  sat  enthroned 
between  the  fat,  fleshy,  grey  eyebrows  ;  he  had  a  wide 
mouth  and  hanging  cheeks,  culminating  in  a  long 
series  of  double  chins  and  wide  wrinkles  and  folds  : 
a  tempting  model  for  a  painter. 

That  is  the  worst  of  our  calling:  you  are  struck 
by  something  you  see,  and  it  is  gone  before  you  can 
properly  study  it.  A  hundred  obstacles  present  them- 
selves when  you  try  to  grasp  a  living  subject.  This 
solemn  dignitary  would  have  crushed  me  with  a 
scornful  glance  if  I  had  ventured  to  come  to  him 
with  a  proposal.  I  was,  however,  glad  to  have  seen 
him,  and  followed  him  to  a  long  distance  with  my  eyes, 
as  a  delightful  prey  that  had  escaped  me.  I  saw  one 
or  two  others,  but  none  so  magnificent  as  the  first. 

Now  came  beggars ;  these  were  just  what  I  did  not 
want,  and  they  refused  to  go  away.  A  middle-aged 
spinster  with  a  card  on  which,  beneath  a  coronet,  stood 


THE    CID 


191 


full  particulars  of  her  long  descent :  I  gave  her  some- 
thing. Then  a  repulsive  shrivelled  arm  was  held  out 
to  me  by  a  man  on  crutches :  I  gave  something  again. 
But  now  I  saw  a  whole  file  coming  up  to  me,  and  I 
remembered  that  a  Spaniard  once  told  me  that  the 
beggars  divide  strangers  into  fruit-trees  and  trees 
with  nothing  but  leaves.  They  shake  the  fruit-trees 
till  there  is  nothing  left  on  them;  the  others  they 
leave  alone.  So  soon  as  you  give  one  of  them  some- 
thing, your  reputation  is  made,  and  you  can  rely  upon 
it  that  they  will  never  leave  you  alone.  And  so  I  had 
to  give  up  sitting  in  the  street  at  Valencia. 

It  is  a  cheerful  city.     The  Spanish  reserve  is  less 
noticeable  here  in  public  than  elsewhere.     The  market- 
place in  particular  is  the  centre  of  lively  movement. 
The  numbers  of  things  exposed   for  sale!     The  part 
that    attracted    us    most    was    where,    beneath    huge 
parasols,  stood  rows  of  barrows  breathing  the  delicious 
perfumes   of  piles   of  various  fruits.      Such  splendid 
reds  and  greens  and  yellows  !     We  often  stood  looking 
and  wondering  at  the   strange  fruit  before  us,  which 
we  either  did  not  know  or  had  not  imagined   in  such 
forms.      Lemons   as    large   as   ostrich-eggs;    bananas, 
long,  yellow,  and    excellently  ripe;    glowing  Spanish 
pepper   in    large   quantities;    white   almonds    in   their 
natural  husks  ;  olives,  figs,  pomegranates,  which,  when 
cut  open,  looked  like  boxes  filled  with  comfits.     Now 
and  then  we  would  buy  something  and  eat  it  in  the 
crowd    as    we    went,    to    the    great    amazement    and 
amusement  of  the  many  ladies  and  servant-girls  who 
come  here  to  make  their  morning  purchases.     Whether 
because  they  were  stung  by  some  of  the  thousands  of 
flies  that   buzzed  around,  or  pinched    in    the  arm   by 


192 


THE    CID 


the  young  men,  these  girls  all  betrayed  great  live- 
liness and  merriment.  They  were  mostly  coquettishly 
dressed,  knowing  that  they  formed  an  even  more  at- 
tractive feature  of  the  market  than  the  wares  offered 
for  sale.  They  carried  their  mantillas  on  their  arms 
with  a  studied  grace,  or  after  arranging  them  on 
their  heads  allowed  them  to  slip  down  on  their 
shoulders.  The  wealth  and  glow  of  their  hair,  in- 
variably adorned  with  a  rose,  and  their  flowered 
bodices,  caused  one  to  overlook  their  imitation  rings 
and  bracelets.  But  their  chief  charm  lay  in  the 
elegance  of  their  movements,  the  distinction  of  their 
coming  and  going  and  turning  and  standing;  and 
the  old  women  who  sat  behind  the  baskets,  the 
merchants  with  their  weights  and  scales,  were  full  of 
fun  and  frolic  while  packing  up  the  things  they  sold. 

Amid  all  this  bustle  of  buying  and  selling,  I  saw 
yet  another  instance  of  the  charity  and  cheerful 
generosity  which  is  so  typical  of  the  Spaniards. 
Shuffling  step  by  step  along  the  rows  of  barrows, 
came  a  young-looking  man,  leaning  upon  and  guided 
by  a  young  woman.  Each  carried  a  big  basket  hung 
over  his  back  by  a  strap. 

**  Who  are  those  ? "  I  asked  the  fat  old  market- 
woman  who  was  serving  us. 

"Oh,  that  couple  over  there?  Sefwres,  the  worst 
evil  the  saints  can  send  one  is  blindness.  Pedro 
Rotino  has  only  been  married  six  months  to  the 
Seiiorita  Lafrado,  and  one  unlucky  morning  he  had 
a  vision  and  has  been  stark-blind  ever  since.  Come 
here,  Alina!"  she  cried,  made  a  grab  at  her  wares, 
and  flung  two  handfuls  into  the  unhappy  pair's  baskets. 
They   met    with    the    same    reception    on    every  hand. 


THE    CID 


193 


Ever>^  one  gave  something  until  the  baskets  were  full, 
and  not  only  the  baskets,  but  the  man's  coat-pockets, 
and  the  hands  of  both  ;  and  all  this  accompanied  by 
pitying  faces  and  kindly  speeches  :  an  impulsive  and 
emotional  people. 

Of  course  we  had  to  visit  the  cathedral.     There  was 
to   be  a  special  Miserere  sung  that  day,  and  in  the 
afternoon,  when  it  was  too  warm  for  walking,  we  went 
to  hear  it.     It  was  deliciously  cool.     We  were  a  little 
early ;  the  congregation  had  not  commenced  to  arrive, 
but    the    church   was   full    of    admirable    decorations, 
beautiful  pictures,  tombs,  and  statues.     The  great  fault 
here,  as  in  all  the  churches,  was  that  it  was  too  dark 
to  see   anything.      The   pictures   are    hung  much   too 
high  and  in  the  dark,  sometimes  surrounded  by  lighted 
tapers,  and  sometimes  hidden  behind  curtains,  which 
are   only  drawn    by  special   request.      We    had    some 
difficulty  in  suppressing  our  annoyance,  but  went  and 
sat  down  patiently  on  a  richly-carved  bench  near  the 
altar ;   it  was  not  until  later,  when  we  were  sent  away, 

that  we  realized  that  this  was  the  seat  of  the  officiating 
clergy. 

Presently  there  entered,  genuflecting,  a  little  acolyte 
in  red  and  white ;  it  appeared  to  be  his  duty  to  pre- 
pare the  place  for  the  service ;  he  moved  the  benches, 
dusted  the  floor,  and  put  the  prayer-books  in  their 
places.  He  then  came  to  a  great  sculptured  lectern, 
the  lower  portion  of  which  contained  the  heavy,  brass- 
bound  church-books.  One  of  these  had  to  be  laid 
upon  the  desk  above,  but  pull  and  try  as  he  might,  he 
could  not  lift  it.  I  made  a  sign  to  my  son  to  go  and 
help  the  boy,  and  between  them  they  hoisted  the 
ponderous  volume  from  its  hiding-place  to  the  top  of 


2  B 


194 


THE    CID 


the  lectern.  He  next  helped  him,  at  his  request,  to 
move  an  enormous  copper  holy-water  stoup  ;  climbed 
a  ladder  for  him  in  order  to  pull  a  curtain  from  before 
an  altar-picture,  which  the  boy  could  not  reach,  and 
also  to  light  the  tall  candles  on  the  altar.  The  boy 
laughed  and  said  contentedly  that  generally,  when  it 
was  his  turn  to  do  these  things,  he  had  to  call  in 
the  old  sacristan,  who  always  grumbled  at  him,  and 
drove  him  away.  And  in  this  way  a  son  of  the  Chosen 
People  helped  to  set  the  Catholic  Church  in  order; 
and  as  I  watched  those  two  lads,  I  thought  how  absurd 
it  was  that  people  should  be  so  hostile  towards  each 
other  over  the  service  of  a  Being  of  Whom  we  mortals 

know  so  little. 

The  church  began  to  fill,  and  we  were  expelled  from 
our  lofty  seats  by  a  beadle  with  his  silver  chains  on 
his  breast  and  his  tall  drum-major's  cane  in  his  hand. 
We  found  seats  lower  down  among  the  congregation, 
and    the    music    began.       Heavy    men's   voices    spoke 
rather  than  sang  ;  these  were  answered  by  other  basses, 
as  though   they  were   holding  a   loud    and   important 
conversation.      The   all-overpowering   organ    enjoined 
silence  upon   them;    but   no  sooner   had    this   ceased, 
than  they  began  all  over  again,  with  the  same  wailing 
tones,  the  same  cries  of  despair,  and  the  same  moaning 
of  the  organ.      It  began   to  grow  terribly  warm  and 
oppressive.      At    last   they  stopped,  and   then   it  was 
as  though  a  curtain  had  been  drawn  aside  from  the 
Holy  of  Holies,   for  from    the   loft  facing  the   organ 
came  an  introduction  on  harps  and  violins,  and  softly 
and  slowly,  a  sweet  choir  of  children's  voices  entoned 
a    beautiful,   consoling  hymn.      It    had   the   sound    of 
clear  silver  water  which,  moved  by  the  wind,  murmurs 


THE    CJD 


195 


softly  between  flowering  banks.  We  breathed  more 
freely,  and  were  commencing  heartily  to  enjoy  the 
music,  of  which  it  seemed  as  though  we  could  never 
hear  enough,  when  alas!  a  man  ascended  the  pulpit 
— I  could  have  dragged  him  out  of  it! — spoke  some 
sentences  in  Latin,  and  see,  the  basses  began  their 
grumbling  conversation  all  over  again,  and  the  organ 
growled  and  lamented  till  the  whole  church  creaked. 
Who  know^s  how  long  it  lasted?  We  left  the  tall 
cathedral  on  tip-toe,  and  went  for  a  walk  in  the 
Alameda,  where  it  was  cool,  and  green,  and  delightful. 


H 


TO    BARCELONA 

Once  on  the  road  to  Barcelona,  the  trains  ^o  a  little 
faster,  and  stop  at  fewer  small  stations ;  we  can  feel 
that  we  are  travelling*  to  an  important  manuf^icturing 
and  commercial  town.  The  railway  passed,  as  usual, 
between  charming  woods  of  olive-trees  and  along 
chesnut-covered  heights,  similar  to  those  which  we 
had  admired  before  reaching  Valencia.  At  Tortosa  we 
alitrhted  for  a  moment  to  ^rreet  the  Ebro,  the  classical 
river  of  Spain.  I  remembered  how,  as  boys  in  the 
cold,  ugly,  drawing-school,  we  used  often  to  sing  that 
well-known  song : 

"  Fern  im  Siid  das  schone  Spanien, 
Spanien  ist  mein  Heimathland, 
Wo  die  schattigen  Kastanien 

Rauschen  an  des  Ebro  Strand  :  " 

and  now  that  I  was  here,  I  could  understand  how  the 
poet  imagined  a  Spanish  boy  who  felt  home-sick  in  the 
North  for  this  warm  and  richly-coloured  land. 

On  returning  to  our  compartment,  w^e  found  that 
we  had  acquired  a  splendid  officer,  in  full  dress,  as  a 
travelling-companion.  He  was  a  soldier  of  a  certain 
age,  but  with  a  fine  head,  brown  from  exposure  to  the 
sun,  all  save  his  forehead,  which  looked  very  white  by 
comparison,  and  his  hair,  which  was  iron-grey.  He 
had   taken   off  his  cap  for  coolness,  and  placed  it  by 

ig6 


i 


TO    BARCELONA 


197 


his  side,  while  his  sword  rested  across  his  knees.  We 
chatted  eagerly  of  the  fine  view  we  had  seen,  produced 
cigarettes,  and,  as  is  the  custom  here,  handed  the  box 
to  the  follower  of  Mars. 

"  Gracias,  senor^'  he  said,  taking  one.  '*  I  am  much 
obliged,  for  I  happen  to  have  left  my  own  case  behind  ; 
thanks." 

We  pressed  him  to  take  some  more  out  of  our 
supply ;  and  as  the  Spaniards  look  upon  cigarettes  as 
almost  common  property,  he  helped  himself  to  a  few, 
rolled  them  in  a  piece  of  paper,  and  we  soon  became 
friends. 

**  You  seem  to  be  speaking  a  Northern  tongue,"  he 
said;  "is  that  so?  I  understand  a  little  French  and 
German,  but  of  what  you  speak,  not  a  word." 

We  told  him  we  were  talking  Dutch. 

"■  Ah  !  "  he  cried.  *'  Holanda  I  I  know  Holland 
very  well ;  that  is  to  say,"  he  added,  laughing,  '*  from 
my  maps.  I  know  your  lines  between  Utrecht  and 
Amsterdam.  And  how  are  things  with  the  Zuider  Zee  : 
is  that  drained  yet?  " 

We  sat  amazed  at  hearing  this  Spanish  whiskerando 
talk  in  the  land  of  olives  and  citrons  about  Amsterdam 
and  the  Zuider  Zee. 

**  You  must  not  be  surprised  to  hear  me  talk  of 
that.  We  have  to  know  a  little  of  the  world  around 
us,  and  your  little  country,  with  its  important  neigh- 
bours and  its  curious  means  of  defence,  is  always  a 
special  subject  of  study  with  us." 

We  expressed  our  satisfaction  at  finding  that 
the  Netherlands  did  not  count  for  nothing  in  the 
military  life  of  Europe,  and  gradually  the  conver- 
sation turned   to  Gibraltar,    and    how^   it   came   about 


\% 


198 


TO    BARCELONA 


that  this  remained  in  the  occupation  of  the  English. 
The  question  worked  upon  our  fellow-traveller  like  an 
electric  shock. 

*'  Never  talk  to  me,"  he  said,  **  of  Gibraltar,  for  that 
is  more  than  we  can  bear.  Fortunately  we  don't  think 
about  it,  for  otherwise  there  would  be  no  rest  and  peace 
in  the  country,  and  before  Gibraltar  became  Spanish 
again,  our  country  would  have  to  be  devastated  by  the 
most  shameful  w^ar  of  modern  times.  You  know  we 
have  fought  hard  for  it  more  than  once  before  ;  but 
war  and  money  are  one,  and  we  need  all  our  money  to 
keep  our  colonies.  You  must  know  what  we  feel :  you 
yourselves  have  not  got  Belgium  back  yet,  which  the 
French  deprived  you  of.  FIvery  nation  has  a  trouble 
of  this  kind  ;  but  I  am  sorry  we  talked  about  Gibraltar. 
This  is  where  I  get  out  ;  you  see  the  garrison  is  under 
arms.     Adios!'' 

He  shook  hands  with  us,  and  disappeared. 


BARCELONA 


W  E  were  not  long  in  reaching  our  destination,  but 
when  we  had  driven  through  Barcelona  and  pulled  up 
before  our  large  and  roomy  hotel,  which  stood  in  the 
Rambla,  it  seemed  to  us  as  though  a  great  riot  were 
taking  place,  with  endless  quarrels  and  free  fights. 
Our  stout  and  dignified  host,  however,  took  off  his  little 
black  cap,  with  a  bow,  and  said,  ''  Este  nada,  seuores, 
es  la  Rambla:''  it  is  always  like  that  in  the  Rambla; 
you  are  knocked  about  amid  all  the  whirl  and  bustle, 
and  have  to  clear  your  way  through  the  throng  by  the 
force  of  your  elbows. 


199 


f\ 


200 


BARCELONA 


For  him  who  wishes  to  see  Spanish  life,  Barcelona 
at  first  sight  is  not  the  right  place.  It  is  undergoing 
a  daily  process  of  change,  modernization,  and  so-called 
beautification.  The  Rambla  is  the  centre  of  all  the 
movement ;  it  is  a  street  which  starts,  like  a  river,  in 
the  upper  town,  where  it  is  small  and  narrow,  and 
gradually  widens  out  into  a  tree-lined  boulevard,  until 
it  ends  in  a  square  abutting  on  the  harbour.  The  trees 
which  are  said  to  adorn  the  boulevard  are  the  celebrated 
platanes,  or  plane-trees,  and  I  could  not  avoid  express- 
ing my  disappointment  with  them.  I  always  thought 
the  word  platane  so  fine,  and  I  had  imagined  something 
wonderful  from  it ;  whereas  now  I  saw  nothing  but 
mutilated  trunks,  the  colour  of  white  human  flesh,  with 
scarcely  a  leaf  to  the  pruned  branches.  Fortunately 
the  square  is  not  disfigured  by  them,  and  the  spectacle 
of  the  harbour  is  magnificent:  big  ships  sail  in  and 
out,  and  you  realize  at  once  that  this  is  a  great  com- 
mercial city,  and  that  the  Spain  of  former  days  mani- 
fests itself  at  Barcelona.  A  colossal  statue  of  Columbus 
adorns  the  centre  of  the  harbour  square,  and  a  little 
beyond  it  is  an  avenue  known  as  the  Columbus  Avenue, 
where,  walking  between  palms  and  orange-trees,  you 
enjoy  an  enchanting  view  over  the  blue  sea.  It  is  as 
though  one  were  in  one  of  the  South  American  sea- 
ports captured  by  the  Spaniards,  in  so  vivid  and 
powerful  a  light  does  nature  display  itself.  The  passing 
figures,  with  their  richly-coloured  dress  and  tropical 
character,  heighten  the  illusion. 

The  next  morning  was  a  Sunday,  and  the  lively 
streets  of  Barcelona  were  filled  with  a  multitude  in 
search  of  Sunday  pleasures.  In  order  to  avoid  the 
crowd  in  the  Rambla,  I  went  down  the  Calle  Fernando, 


BARCELONA 


20I 


and,  as  is  always  happening  in  Spain,  involuntarily  and 
unconsciously  I  found  myself  inside  a  big  dark  church. 
The  church  was  empty ;  I  had  w^alked  through  it,  and 
had  turned  to  go  out  again,  when  I  saw  three  tall 
women,  dressed  in  black,  come  towards  me.  They 
did  not  see  me,  and  knelt  down  just  in  front  of  me, 
where  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  stood  fixed 
against  a  pillar.  I  drew  back,  but  stopped  a  little 
further  down,  behind  another  pillar,  so  as  to  keep  the 
ladies  in  view.  Thus,  thought  I,  Petrarch  stood  w^atch- 
ing  Laura  in  the  church  where  he  first  beheld  her. 
They  seemed  to  be  three  sisters.  She  who  knelt  in 
the  middle  was  certainly  the  oldest :  she  was  tall,  with 
enormous  eyes,  a  finely  hooked  nose,  and  broad  jaws, 
to  which  her  black  clothes  and  black  hair  lent  that 
delicate  pallor  which  gives  some  Spanish  women  so 
interesting  an  air  of  suffering.  The  two  others,  as  they 
knelt,  were  half  a  head  shorter  than  the  eldest ;  they 
threw  their  arms  around  her  neck,  while  she  drew  a 
prayer-book  from  her  bosom  and  read  out  aloud,  the 
others,  with  bent  heads,  listening  and  praying  with 
her.  Seen  from  the  distance  at  which  I  stood,  it  was  a 
perfect  group  of  three  women,  calculated  to  inspire  a 
sculptor,  with  its  perfect  harmony  of  line  and  its  proud 
expression  of  mourning  and  grief. 

I  crept  out  of  the  church  on  tip-toe,  so  as  not  to 
disturb  them,  and  was  greeted  by  the  genial  w^armth 
outside.  Still  filled  by  the  thought  of  the  three  dark 
figures  I  had  seen,  I  walked  dreamily  on  ;  but  when 
I  had  gone  some  w^ay  along  the  sunny  street,  I  was 
struck  anew  by  a  young  and  handsome  woman  who 
w^as  walking  on  the  opposite  side  with  true  Spanish 
grandezza.     She  was  clad  in  pale  yellow  satin,  with 


2  c 


202 


BARCELONA 


which  her  black  lace  mantilla  made  a  delicious  effect 
of  col(3ur.  Protecting-  her  head  and  hair  from  the 
sun,  it  threw  over  her  forehead  a  broad  shadow  that 
descended  almost  to  her  eye-brows.  Wliat  completed 
the  picture  was  that  in  her  right  hand,  which  was 
ungloved  and  covered  with  rings,  she  carried  a  long, 
waving  plant,  whose  stem  was  adorned  with  two 
beautiful  roses.  She  carried  these  with  the  grace 
which  a  well-bred  woman  always  displays  who  has 
anything  pretty  to  look  at  in  her  hand. 

It  was  not  long  before  she  was  stopped  by  two 
little  girls,  whom  she  appeared  to  know.  They  both 
wore  embroidered  white  mantillas  over  their  violet 
silk  frocks,  and  held  their  fans  up  against  their  eyes 
to  keep  off  the  sun.  There  was  much  kissing,  laugh- 
ing, and  tapping  of  shoulders ;  the  roses  were  admired, 
and  the  party  separated. 

It  began  to  grow  warmer,  and  my  yellow  lady 
crossed  over  to  the  shady  side.  A  little  further  came 
another  meeting,  two  bright-looking  children,  w^alking 
hand-in-hand,  and  doubtless  related  to  the  lady,  for 
they  were  terribly  kissed  and  then  taken  by  the  hand, 
and  the  pleasant  little  group  trotted  off  to  a  neighbour- 
ing confectioner  s. 

A  confectioner's  shop  in  Spain  is  a  wonderful  sight 
— a  sort  of  international  exhibition  of  sugar.  Besides 
the  dishes  full  of  tarts  and  pastry  that  shed  their 
luscious  perfumes  around,  there  are  things  which  one 
would  never  have  thought  of  considering  fit  to  eat : 
baskets  full  of  coal,  boxes  of  finely-cut  tobacco,  balls 
of  string,  with  pens  and  paper ;  I  saw  sugar  envelopes, 
containing  letters  made  of  fluffy  yellow  paper  with 
sugar  addresses  an  choix,     I  followed  the  group  into 


BARCELONA 


203 


this  lovely  shop,  and  was  at  once  accosted  by  a  most 
obliging  matron,  who  asked  me  what  I  lacked.  I 
stood  by  the  counter,  while  she  displayed  her  wares. 
I  especially  admired  the  chocolate  department.  I  went 
from  one  sweet  corner  to  the  other,  and  contented 
myself  with  buying  two  big  sugar  dolls,  to  decorate 
my  room  with,  I  said. 

When  these  works  of  art  were  properly  packed  up, 
with  a  silk  ribbon  to  carry  the  parcel  by,  and  when 
everything,  including  the  thanking  and  leave-taking, 
was  finished,  I  looked  round  for  my  yellow  beauty  and 
the  children,  but  they  w^ere  gone  and  had  disappeared 
from  sight.  All  disconsolate,  I  pursued  my  way  along 
the  streets  of  Barcelona,  carrying  my  parcel  of  sweet- 
stuff  in  my  hand.  Luckily  it  was  no  great  distance 
to  the  Cafe  de  los  Seiiores,  where  my  friends  were  to 
meet  me;  and  when  the  limpia  bota  boys  came  up 
to  me  at  the  entrance  to  black  my  shoes,  I  threw  the 
parcel  to  them,  and  tumbling  over  each  other,  they 
tore  it  open  and  fought  for  the  contents. 

Barcelona  is  the  only  town  in  Spain  that  really 
connects  the  kingdom  with  the  rest  of  Europe.  It 
has  none  of  the  languid  indifference  characteristic  of 
the  other  Spanish  cities,  even  of  Madrid.  Here  reign 
noise  and  movement.  Sailors,  factory-hands,  drovers, 
and  porters  jostle  one  another  in  the  streets.  In  the 
big-  square  with  the  statue  of  Columbus  the  traffic  is 
lively  enough  for  any  European  business-town. 

In  this  square,  at  the  foot  of  the  statue,  sat  a  little 
old  woman  behind  a  mat,  which  protected  her  from 
the  sun,  and  sold  pictures  of  the  monument  and 
portraits  of  Columbus,  with  suitable  inscriptions.  I 
asked  her  if  she  sold  many  of  these  pictures.      She 


204 


BARCELONA 


told  me  she  sold  many  things  besides,  for  she  under- 
stood that  I  was  astonished  that  she  should  support 
herself  with  those  alone. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  and  fetched  out  a  big 
bundle  from  under  a  piece  of  black  canvas,  *'  here  is 
my  collection,  portraits  of  everybody  in  our  great  city." 

And  in  fact  it  was  a  marvellous  collection  of 
photographs  and  prints.  The  Archbishop  of  Barce- 
lona, with  all  the  dignitaries  of  his  household  ;  the 
generals  and  other  officers  of  the  garrison  ;  the  Alcalde 
and  members  of  the  Town  Council ;  professors  of  the 
academy ;  artists ;  a  heap  of  actors  and  actresses ; 
the  bull-fighters  with  their  companies ;  and  lastly,  the 
singers  at  all  the  theatres  and  music-halls.  Some  of 
the  prints  represented  public  buildings  and  places  of 
entertainment,  processions  and  meetings ;  a  chaos  of 
views  very  typical  of  this  lively  and  busy  town. 

''  But  here,  se/lor,^^  she  said,  "  is  a  lady  whose 
portrait  you  must  buy." 

She  showed  me  two  photographs,  one  of  a  comely 
Catalonian  peasant-woman,  the  other  a  lady  on  the 
stage,  surrounded  by  her  audience. 

"  There  are  two,"  I  said. 

**  It  is  one  and  the  same,"  she  replied,  with  a  little 
wink;  ''you  should  go  and  see  her;  she  is  playing 
over  there,"  pointing  to  the  corner  of  one  of  the  adjacent 
streets.  ''  But  she  does  not  play  for  long,  only  two 
months  or  so  in  the  year,  and  the  rest  of  the  time 
she  is  the  obedient  daughter  of  her  father,  and  works 
on  the  farm  like  any  one  else.  But  the  stage  is  her 
life,  and  she  plays  like  nobody  in  the  world.  They're 
all  mad  on  her,  and  so  am  L" 

She  took   up   the   little   photographs,  kissed  them. 


BARCELONA 


205 


and  handed  them  to  me  in  a  pink  envelope.  The  price 
was  half  a  peseta. 

My  curiosity  was  naturally  aroused.  I  told  my 
companions  what  I  had  heard,  and  as  she  generally 
played  by  day,  the  evenings  being  too  warm,  we  went 
the  same  afternoon  to  the  house  the  old  woman  had 
pointed  out  to  me. 

Oh,  what  a  theatre !  A  dirty,  tumbledown  house, 
of  which  the  lower  floor  served  as  sale  or  lumber-rooms. 
We  went  through  a  long,  dark  passage,  and  came  to  a 
big,  square  hall,  lighted  from  above  ;  a  stair-case  on  one 
side  led  to  the  gallery.  Now  we  saw  where  we  were. 
It  was  a  popular  theatre  and  coffee-house  in  one,  where 
they  acted,  danced,  and  sang.  Sailors,  drovers  with 
their  long  whips,  peasants  and  peasant-women,  sat  on 
long,  low  benches  behind  tables  to  match.  There  were 
no  mirrors  nor  any  attempt  at  decoration.  Leaning 
their  elbows  on  the  tables,  the  audience  sat  with  glasses 
of  manzanilla  or  lemonade  before  them,  chattering  and 
playing  with  dice  during  the  performance.  A  lady  in 
pink  was  singing  a  comic  song;  occasionally  some  of 
the  audience  joined  in  the  chorus,  and  stamped  their 
feet  to  the  tune.  The  curtain  fell,  and  a  piece  of 
paper  was  pinned  to  it  bearing  the  name  of  La 
Guerita.  This  was  the  woman  we  had  come  to  see. 
The  announcement  was  received  with  applause,  and 
the  curtain  rose  again  immediately.  I  had  bought 
a  book  of  the  play,  and  am  able,  therefore,  to  repeat 
the  story. 

A  fine,  dark  woman  of  the  people  entered  the 
stage,  rushed  down  to  the  footlights,  and  cried  to 
the  audience : 

*'  Isn't  he  here  ?     Haven't  you  seen  him  ?  " 


li! 


m 


?; 


206 


BAKCKLONA 


She  looked  into  every  corner  of  the  theatre  with  her 
great  eyes,  and  in  a  broken  voice,  exckiimed  : 

''  He  must  be  here,  he  promised  me  that  he  would  be 
here  at  this  time.  I  have  wanted  to  see  him  and  talk 
to  him  the  whole  day;  I  have  looked  for  him  in  the 
streets,  in  the  crowd  on  the  market-place ;  I  can  bear 
it  no  longer,  my  breast  pants  with  sorrow  and  fatigue." 

She  sank  dow  n  upon  a  chair,  appeared  to  faint  away, 
and  spoke,  as  though  to  herself: 

''Ah,  J'edro,  how  you  have  changed  since  the  time 
wiien  I  nursed  your  old  mother,  and  you  came  in  the 
evening  and  sat  on  the  bench  outside  the  door  by 
my  side." 

An  entire  transformation  came  over  the  actress's 
sad  face:  she  showed  all  the  charm  and  love  of  an 
cnamonida,  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  acted  as  though 
her  lover  were  sitting  beside  her  and  she  keeping  off 
his  kisses  with  her  hands.  But  soon  she  rose  again 
from  her  chair,  and  threw  herself  prostrate  before  a 
little  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  nailed  to  the  wings. 
With  both  hands  raised  on  high,  she  cried,  in  her 
beautiful  contralto : 

"  Oimc,  Madrc  dc  Dios  !  Stand  by  me  in  the  hour 
of  peril  that  approaches,  but  grant  ....  grant  that 
the  child  may  be  beautiful,  and  that  I  may  show  it  to 
him  as  an  angel  to  bewitch  him." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  pretending  to  rock  a  child 
in  her  arms,  said  : 

''  See,  see,  how  beautiful  it  is,  how  prettily  it 
laughs!  Take  it,  kiss  it,  we  must  love  and  cherish 
it  together." 

She  then  mimicked  the  whole  action  of  a  mother 
playing  with  her  child.     She  tossed  it  in  the  air,  walked 


BARCELONA 


207 


hand-in-hand  with  it,  set  it  down  and  danced  to  and 
fro  before  it.  Suddenly  she  listened  very  attentively; 
a  mandoline  w^as  heard  in  the  distance,  and  with  a 
wonderful  expression  of  rapt  happiness  on  her  face, 
she  cried,  ''There  he  is,  there  he  is!"  and  flew  head- 
long from  the  stage,  in  the  same  way  as  she  had 
entered.  The  curtain  fell,  amid  deafening  shouts  of 
applause.  She  returned  to  bow  her  thanks,  and  even 
in  this  displayed  her  unspeakable  powers  of  mimicry. 
She  did  as  though  she  were  shaking  hands  separately 
with  each  of  the  rough  fellows  applauding  her,  and 
pressing  their  shouts  and  loud  "  bravos  "  to  her  bosom 
with  a  feeling  of  intense  gratitude. 

The  whole  performance  lasted  about  twenty  minutes, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  witnessed  a  complete 
life's  history.  In  the  three  or  four  large  theatres  which 
Barcelona  boasts,  I  should  probably  have  seen  some- 
thing very  diff"erent,  but  would  it  have  been  truer  art? 

Wandering  through   the   streets   of   Barcelona,   we 

saw  how^  much  is  here  done  in  the  open  air  that  with 

us  takes  place  indoors.     Even  in  the  handsome  quarters 

of  the  big  shops,  men  sit  out  on  the  pavement  printing 

visiting-cards,   taking  photographs,    and    cutting   out 

silhouettes,  which  often  resulted  in  a  very  good  likeness. 

But  in  the  back  streets  4;he  people  look  upon  the  portion 

of  the  street  that  lies  before  their  houses  as  forming 

part  of  their  residences.     An  energetic  mother  put  her 

little  daughter  on  a  chair  before  the  door  in  order  to 

give  her  a  thorough  washing  and  cleaning.     A  carrier 

climbed  down  from  his  box  to  have  his  dinner,  which 

was  prepared  on  a  little  table  in  front  of  his  house.    All 

this  in  the  presence  of,  and  amid  conversations  with, 

the  friends  and  nei^r^hbours. 

o 


2o8 


BARCELONA 


Before  the  door  of  a  house  covered  with  advertise- 
ments of  marvellous  cures  and  recoveries,  the  proprietor, 
a  quack  physician,  was  engaged,  in  full  view  of  the 
public,  in  bandaging  a  porter's  wounded  foot.  It  was 
a  picture  worthy  of  Jan  Steen.  The  doctor,  with  his 
bushy,  grey  hair,  was  treating  the  naked  limb  with  rags 
and  sponges,  while  a  barefooted  lad  held  a  tin  basin  of 
water,  and  with  great  difficulty  kept  off  a  crowd  of 
children  who  were  pressing  too  closely  to  watch  this 
interesting  incident.  A  homely  picture  full  of  life  and 
colour.  And  we  were  particularly  struck  with  the  big 
inscriptions  that  lent  so  great  an  attraction  to  the  walls 
of  the  doctor's  house.  There  was  no  disorder  but  he 
had  a  cure  for  it,  and  every  remedy  was  signed  with 
his  name.  In  the  windows  stood  magnificent  bottles, 
containing  .  .  .  what  do  you  think?  Tape-worms, 
preserved  in  spirits  of  wine,  of  which  he  had  relieved 
persons  high-placed  and  lowly.  Their  names  and 
addresses  were  noted  on  the  bottles.  There  were  laree 
jars  containing  diseased  limbs,  and  above  the  door  a 
glorified  syringe  waved  slowly  to  and  fro. 

When  at  last  w^e  returned  to  the  Rambla,  a  different 
sight  awaited  us.  It  was  the  bishop's  birthday,  in 
which  everybody  seemed  interested.  The  big  church 
near  the  Columbus  Square  was  brilliantly  illuminated, 
and  looked  like  a  beacon  in  the  evening  darkness.  The 
music  of  the  organ  and  choir  came  streaming  through 
the  door,  before  which  stood  the  beadle,  carrying  his 
large  staff,  and  surrounded  by  other  church  officials  in 
splendid  dresses.  A  crowd  stood  silently  waiting. 
The  music  sounded  nearer  the  entrance,  and  a  hand- 
some carriage  drew  up  before  the  door.  Presently  the 
bishop  himself  appeared,  preceded  by  choristers  carrying 


BARCELONA 


209 


lighted  candles;  the  bishop,  a  spare  and  stately 
figure,  blessed  the  people  and  took  his  seat  in  his 
carriage.  Flowers  were  thrown  from  the  adjoining 
houses,  children  offered  bouquets,  and  escorted  by 
torch-carriers  and  a  lively  band,  we  walked  behind  the 
procession  to  our  hotel,  which  was  close  at  hand. 


2D 


DEPARTURE    EROM    SPAIN 

1  HE  days  of  our  Spanish  journey  were  numbered. 
The  next  niornin<^  we  were  to  cross  the  frontier  and 
travel  throui^h  Erance  via  Perpig-nan.  We  did  not 
propose  to  go  straight  home  over  Paris,  but  to  proceed 
by  easy  daylight  journeys. 

The  day  of  our  departure  was  balmy  and  sunny, 
and  when  we  stopped  at  Gerona,  a  few  hours  from  the 
frontier,  we  got  out  to  view  the  beautiful  environs  and 
the  curious  little  high  and  low-lying  town.  We  felt 
inclined  to  let  our  boxes  and  trunks  go  on,  and  our- 
selves to  spend   the  night  at  Gerona  ;    but  the  signal 


2IO 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


211 


for  departure  was  given,  and  unable  to  make  up  our 
minds,  we  returned  to  our  carriage. 

As  we  crossed  the  frontier,  w^e  each  had  a  feeling 
as  though  we  had  committed  a  sin  in  returning  so 
soon  ;  we  felt  that  we  had  not  seen  enough  of  what  was 
to  be  observed  on  the  road,  and  that  we  had  not  suffi- 
ciently appreciated  the  things  that  we  had  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  see  and  enjoy.  And  was  it  not  strange 
that  just  at  that  moment  the  weather  changed?  The 
sky  grew  dark  ;  grey,  woolly  clouds  lowered  over  the 
horizon.  Our  sunny  farewell  to  Barcelona  was  followed 
by  a  gloomy,  rainy  leave-taking  from  Spain  ;  and  it 
was  as  though  there  were  no  sun  save  in  Spain  :  we 
felt  that,  in  leaving  Spain,  we  were  returning  to  the 
dulness  of  everyday  life. 

We  reached  Perpignan  late  at  night.  It  was  so 
dark  that  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  anything  in 
the  streets  ;  and  when  our  dripping  and  shivering 
coachman  had  brought  us  to  our  hotel,  where  they 
had  been  apprised  of  our  arrival,  there  were  no  lights 
visible,  nor  a  living  soul  to  be  seen.  The  great 
porte-cochere  stood  ajar ;  we  entered,  but  found  our- 
selves in  a  dark  cavern  with  no  discoverable  outlet. 
The  coachman,  however,  flung  off  his  cape  and  went 
ahead  of  us,  until  in  a  corner  we  saw  a  candle  burning 
on  the  top  of  a  pile  of  boxes  and  trunks.  Across 
these  lay  a  young  fellow  with  his  head  thrown  back 
in  a  heavy  sleep.  The  tiny  flame  cast  gigantic 
shadows  on  the  wall ;  the  sleeper's  nose  was  repro- 
duced in  monstrous  dimensions,  and  his  legs  were 
so  long  that  they  ran  along  the  whole  wall.  This 
Rembrandtesque  effect  of  the  small  light  in  this  dark 
space,  with  its  fantastic  shadows  on  floor  and  ceiling, 


212 


DEPARTURE   FROM    SPAIN 


made  us  for  a  moment  almost  forget  our  cold  and 
fatigue.  The  sleeper  would  not  wake,  shout  as  we 
might.  We  banged  on  the  trunks  with  our  sticks 
and  umbrellas  ;  the  coachman  called  him  by  his  name 
and  shook  him  violently  by  the  shoulders.  Nothing 
availed.  At  last  the  coachman,  who  knew  his  way 
about  the  stable,  went  to  the  pump,  filled  a  tin  pan 
with  water,  and  with  his  fingers  dripped  the  cold  fluid 
over  the  lad's  eyes  and  nose.  At  last  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  sleepily  stretching  his  arms,  got  up.  Ac- 
customed to  such  troubles,  he  merely  said  : 

''  Qui,  oui,  messieurs,  your  rooms  are  ready." 
He  lit  our  candles  for  us,  we  climbed  the  creaking 
stairs,  and  we  felt  the  loss  of  our  Spanish  chocolate  as 
we  went  to  bed  in  the  cold  night. 

Here  we  were,  in  France,  and  heard  not  a  word 
of  Spanish :  all  the  interest  of  our  journey  was  gone. 
Gone  were  the  bare  rocks,  gone  the  quaint,  mysterious 
villages,  with  their  indigent,  alms-begging  inhabitants. 
We  travelled  through  an  ordinary,  pleasant  landscape, 
among  people  just  like  ourselves.  We  passed  hills 
and  water-falls,  and  as  we  approached  Avignon  it  was 
but  natural  that  we  should  sing  the  well-known  ditty : 

"  Sur  le  pont  d'Avignon  Ton  y  danse  et  I'on  y  danse, 
Sur  le  pont  d'Avignon  I'on  y  danse  tout  en  rond." 

But  our  singing  stopped  when  we  found  ourselves 
inside  the  famous  town.  Small,  dark  streets,  old  and 
yet  not  beautiful,  with  a  single  modern  street  here 
and  there.  Fortunately  we  were  made  comfortable 
in  our  hotel,  near  the  great  bridge  of  which  we  had 
just  been  singing. 

The  bridge  crosses   the    Rhone,  the   hero  of  this 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


213 


romantic  country,  and  it  was  for  the  Rhone's  sake 
that  we  appreciated  Avignon.  Its  waters  flow  in  great 
waves  towards  the  sea  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  hill  on 
which  Avignon  is  built,  and  give  life  and  movement 
to  the  sleeping  city  of  the  Popes.  As  in  Toledo,  the 
road  leads  upwards  through  the  town  from  the  river, 
through  crooked  streets  and  across  small  squares  until 
the  great  market-place  is  reached.  We  passed  I  know 
not  how  many  churches ;  and  other  ecclesiastical  build- 
ings, seminaries,  and  monasteries  assist  in  giving  the 
town  a  gloomy  aspect.  At  last  you  come  to  a  wide 
square  which  marks  the  topmost  level  of  the  mountain 
city,  and  out  of  which  the  streets  lead  downwards. 
There  are  some  old  buildings  here,  and  a  plantation 
stands  against  the  mountain-side,  while  in  the  middle 
rises  the  lofty  palace  of  the  Popes. 

It  remains  a  characteristic  historical  building,  in 
spite  of  the  number  of  restorations  and  partial  demo- 
litions which  it  has  had  to  undergo  in  the  course  of 
the  ages;  and  it  still  makes  a  powerful  impression. 
You  cannot  for  a  moment  doubt  that  you  are  standing 
before  a  monument  which  centuries  ago  harboured 
august  inmates.  It  is  not  really  a  palace,  but  a  for- 
tified castle,  with  a  great  repellant  prison  by  its  side. 
Those  were  wondrous  times,  when  the  abodes  of  the 
mightiest  nobles  had  to  be  accompanied  by  dungeons 
of  such  vast  proportions.  What  we  call  humanity  was 
not  known  in  those  essentially  religious  days.  A 
pope  with  sword  in  hand  was  an  image  that  in  those 
times  aroused  no  astonishment. 

In  the  middle  of  the  grey-brown,  weather-beaten 
wall  of  the  prison  is  a  heavily-barred  window,  from 
which  the  imprisoned  tribune  Cola  di  Rienzi  watched 


214 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


the  executions  held  in  the  square  without.  Upon  the 
ancient  steps  leading  to  the  main  entrance  stood  Pope 
Clement,  giving  his  blessing  to  the  pilgrims  who  had 
flowed  from  Italy  and  Spain,  or  receiving  homage  from 
the  King  of  France.  But  alas  !  a  dreary  disappointment 
awaits  one  who  dreams  of  those  picturesque  times  ;  for 
when  he  draws  nearer  to  the  palace  he  sees  that  it  has 
been  turned  into  ...  an  infantry  barracks.  Yet  we 
climbed  the  steps  and  went  through  the  big  main  gate  ; 
but  an  approaching  company  of  French  foot-soldiers 
blocked  our  way,  and  we  climbed  down  from  this 
ancient  building  to  the  sound  of  kettle-drums  and  the 
word  of  command  shouted  by  a  French  officer  in  a  kepi 
and  scarlet  trousers. 

Yet  the  town  contains  a  district  which  may  be 
called  the  business  part :  here  the  markets  are  held 
and  the  exchange.  But  here  again  you  have  a  large 
Monastery  of  Saint  liutropius,  and  a  little  further  a 
Convent  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  a  Pius  Square,  a 
Chapel  of  the  \Yhite  Penitents,  a  monastery  dedicated 
to  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi.  And  amid  all  this  we  came 
to  a  little  square  called  the  Place  Jerusalem. 

I  saw  a  small  low  building,  decorated  with  a 
Hebrew  inscription  :  that  was  the  synagogue.  Here 
too,  I  thought,  they  have  found  a  refuge,  my  heavily- 
tried  kinsmen  ;  among  all  these  institutions  of  the 
Gentiles  live  members  of  the  Chosen  People.  The 
place  appeared  to  contain  many  Jews  ;  I  know  their 
gestures  and  movements  and  their  unmistakable 
features.  But  one  of  them,  too,  seemed  to  recognize  in 
me  a  brother ;  at  least  he  came  up  to  me  and  asked  if 
I  was  not  one  of  them,  and  where  I  came  from.  He 
saw  that  we  were  strangers.      Perhaps  he  thought  we 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


215 


needed  the  assistance  of  the  community,  for  our  clothes 
looked  none  too  new.  He  compassionately  offered  to 
take  me  to  the  president  of  his  congregation.  I 
answered  that  he  was  not  mistaken,  but  that  for  the 
present  I  was  not  in  need  of  aid.  I  looked  at  him 
earnestly,  and  it  was  clear  to  me  that  he  was  a  Russian 
Jew;  his  coarse,  brown  beard  hung  over  a  well-worn 
sort  of  gaberdine,  and  his  bent  head,  with  its  deep 
wrinkles,  was  covered  with  a  fur  cap. 

''How  do  you   come  here?"    I  asked.     "You  are 
not  a  Frenchman." 

"  The  Lord,  His  name  be  praised,"  he  replied,  ''  has 
driven    me    far   from   my  home.       I  was  a  well-to-do 

manufacturer  at "  (he  mentioned    the   name  of  a 

place  in  Russia  which  I  have  forgotten),  ''but  I  lost 
my  all  in  a  fire.  I  found  myself  thrown  on  the  streets 
with  my  wife  and  five  children,  and  nothing  besides 
the  clothes  on  our  backs ;  and  though  my  neighbours 
helped  me  in  every  way,  the  Government  will  not 
permit  a  Jew  to  be  poor.  I  was  driven  from  place  to 
place,  I  wandered  and  begged  of  our  brothers,  and  as 
I  am  a  tanner  by  trade,  I  at  last  found  work  here. 
There  are  many  factories  here,  and  the  French  are 
clever  in  their  work  and  kind  to  people  in  distress." 

I  asked  if  he  felt  at  home  here  and  was  able  to 
live  according  to  his  liking. 

"Ah,  that  I  should  be  so  great  a  sinner!"  he 
answered  plaintively.  "No,  we  do  not  live  here  as 
true  believers.  There  is  no  dwelling  here  for  us 
awaiting  the  Messiah,  no  life  for  those  who  should 
live  according  to  the  Law.  Where  can  I  have  un- 
leavened bread  baked  for  the  Passover?  Where  can 
I  keep  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles  ?     The  worst  of  it  is 


2l6 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


that  my  children  do  not  keep  up  their  religion.  They 
are  not  taught  a  word  of  Hebrew,  and  I  fear,  I  fear, 
that  they  will  cease  to  value  their  origin." 

I  comforted  the  old  man  to  the  best  of  my  power, 
and  his  fervent  prayer  for  my  safe  return  home  sounded 
sadly  in  my  ears. 

Through  one  of  the  little  back  streets  that  run  out 
of  the  Place  Jerusalem,  we  came  to  the  modern  part 
of  the  town,  where  the  new  H6tel-de-\'ille  stands,  and 
where  the  houses  in  the  new  Rue  de  la  Republique 
show  the  outlines  of  their  tedious,  regular  roofs  against 
the  sky.  But  it  was  here  that  our  hotel  was ;  the 
table-iflwte  awaited  us,  and  the  after-dinner  rest. 

It  seems  that,  oppressed  by  the  heat  and  tired 
from  my  long  walk,  I  must  have  extended  my  siesta 
longer  than  my  young  friends  liked;  at  least,  when 
I  woke,  I  found  them  gone,  and  I  was  able  to  take  a 
stroll  by  myself.  I  felt  drawn  towards  the  river,  and 
accordingly  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that 
we  had  taken  in  the  morning.  I  soon  reached  the 
lower  part  of  the  town.  There  was  the  famous  old 
bridge,  of  which  the  song  tells ;  there  was  no  one 
dancing  on  it,  however ;  it  looked  lonely  and  deserted. 
Nor  could  any  one  very  well  have  danced  on  it  with- 
out tumbling  into  the  rushing  stream  below;  for  a 
great  portion  of  the  bridge  has  been  carried  away,  and 
what  remains  forms  a  ruin  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
I  looked  around  and  found  another  bridge  a  little 
further  up,  by  which  I  crossed  to  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  Rhone.  Here  it  was  fresh  and  cool ;  the  wind 
had  slowly  risen  and  cleared  the  atmosphere.  The 
place  where  I  stood  was  planted  with  curiously- twisted 
plane-trees,    whose    crooked    boughs    hung    over    the 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


217 


sandy  banks  of  the  river.  The  water  flowed  with 
great  swiftness  in  broad  waves  close  to  my  feet,  and 
there  were  large  stones  on  the  tow-path,  inviting  one 
to  sit  down.  I  did  so,  and  subjected  myself  to  the 
impression  of  my  surroundings. 

The  colour  of  the  water  was  a  bluish  white,  with 
reflections  from  the  red  light  of  the  sun,  which  had 
set ;  everything  in  the  neighbourhood  was  reflected  in 
this  running  mirror  of  the  Rhone,  including  the  Palace 
of  the  Popes,  high  above,  with  all  its  turrets  and 
corners.  Constantly  it  was  sw^ept  away  by  the  stream, 
only  to  return  to  sight ;  and  it  was  the  same  with  the 
clouds,  the  mountains  and  trees,  which  continuously 
came  and  went.  I  could  not  remove  my  eyes  from 
this  changeful  spectacle. 

Meanwhile,  as  I  sat  there  musing,  I  did  not  notice 
that  the  evening  glow  had  vanished.  I  looked  around 
at  the  land  and  mountains  behind  me;  I  could  scarcely 
distinguish  the  path  by  which  I  had  come.  Mist 
and  darkness  lay  over  the  water.  I  could  hear  it 
rushing,  but  I  could  no  longer  see  the  opposite 
bank.  Town  and  suburbs  had  disappeared,  and  the 
Papal  Palace  had  vanished  before  my  eyes  with 
the  rest. 

I  rose  quickly  to  return  to  my  hotel,  and  took  the 
road  which  I  thought  led  to  the  bridge ;  but  I  walked 
on  and  walked  on,  it  was  much  longer  than  I  thought, 
and  I  could  not  make  out  what  had  become  of  the 
bridge  that  led  to  the  opposite  shore.  However,  I 
went  on,  hoping  to  meet  some  one  who  knew  the  way. 
But  all  became  lonelier  and  more  darksome  around 
me.  Am  I  going  to  meet  ghosts?  I  thought,  for  I 
saw  a   long  white  figure    come   hovering  down   upon 


2  E 


2l8 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


me.  I  stood  still,  but  this  time  I  made  no  mistake, 
for  I  heard  voices,  and  saw  two  white  figures,  and  yet 
more :  they  were  nuns,  walking  two  and  two  along 
the  foot-path,  by  the  trees,  where  I  was.  I  fell  back 
and  followed  them  at  a  distance,  for  their  road  must 
also  be  mine ;  they  were  bound  for  their  convent  in 
the  town. 

Slowly  I  walked  in  the  wake  of  the  tall,  softly- 
babbling  sisters,  and  at  last  we  came  to  the  bridge 
which  I  had  expected  to  find  in  the  opposite  direction. 
I  waited  a  little,  for  I  wished  to  let  the  little  procession 
cross  the  bridge  before  me.  I  wanted  to  retain  the 
mystic  picture  before  my  eyes :  the  grey  and  dusky 
environment,  with  the  white  figures  of  the  nuns  mov- 
ing slowly  through  it.  Their  footsteps  sounded  softly 
on  the  pavement  of  the  bridge,  and  when  they  reached 
the  opposite  side,  they  raised  a  monotonous  chant, 
which  mingled  with  the  rustling  of  the  stream,  and 
reaching  my  ears,  aroused  in  me  a  wonderful  melan- 
choly. Their  voices  grew  less  and  less,  as  the  nuns 
passed  into  the  town,  and  again  all  was  deathly  still 
around  me,  and  it  became  time  for  me  to  hasten  home. 
But  their  "Amen"  continued  to  sound  clearly  in  my 
ears;  for  it  was  as  though  they  were  saying  "Amen" 
to  my  journey,  to  show^  that  it  was  time  for  me  to 
return  to  my  own  fireside. 

Avignon  was  the  last  place  that  was  put  down  as 
important  in  our  plans.  Our  wanderings  were  at  an 
end  ;  a  few  days  more,  and  our  native  land  would  be 
in  sight.  I  crossed  the  bridge,  slowly  climbed  the 
street  to  my  last  strange  resting-place,  and  rocked 
myself  to  sleep  with  thoughts  of  my  own  house  and 
home. 


DEPARTURE    FROM    SPAIN 


219 


To  the  reader  who  has  followed  me  so  far  I  will 
only  say  that  we  arrived  home  safe  and  sound.  Our 
families  and  friends  congratulated  us  on  our  safe 
return  from  our  wanderings.  But  the  hand  which 
once  was  the  most  eagerly  extended  to  welcome  me 
home,  that  hand  was  no  longer  there. 


.■>■. 


/     y 


'^; 


1 


INDEX 


Acolyte,  an,  193. 

Actress,  an,  204  et  seq. 

Africa,  112;  journey  to,  113;  the 
ship,  114;  a  landscape,  127. 

Albaycin,  the,  or  gypsy  quarter,  at 
Granada,  162:  drive  thither,  163; 
the  gypsy  captain,  166. 

Alcantara,  Bridge  of,  73. 

Algeciras,  134;  difficulty  in  getting  a 
lodging,  135-6;  a  fair,  138;  a 
dance,  141  ;  departure  from,  142. 

Aiguaziis,  or  policemen,  48,  55. 

Alhambra,  the,  156;  entrance,  ibid.; 
interior,  157;  desolation,  158; 
Queen's  Boudoir,  160  ;  view, 
161. 

Arabs,  and  Toledo,  73. 

Aranjuez,  186. 

Art-critic,  a  French,  50. 

Attendants,  courtesy  of,  42. 

Avignon,  212;  Palace  of  the  Popes, 
213;  its  history,  214  ;  monasteries, 
ibid.  ;  Synagogue,  ibid.;  Place  Jeru- 
salem, ibid..,  216;  bridge,  216. 

Azucarillo^  or  wafer,  23. 


Barcelona,  journey  to,  196;  arrival  at, 

199  ;  Rambla,  or  main  street,  200; 

harbour,  ibid.  ;  Sunday  at,   200-1  ; 

a    lady,    201-2  :    a    shop,    202  ; 

streets,  203  ;  theatre,  205  ;  bishop, 

208. 
Bed-room,  a  Spanish,  20. 
Beggars,  35,  71,  79,  190. 


Bells,  102. 

Berbke,  story  of,  4. 

Bishop,  a,  208. 

Breakfast,  a  Spanish,  23. 

Brussels,  Wagner's  Tristan  tttid  Isolde 

at,  7. 
Bull-fighting  at  San  Sebastian,  24 ;  at 

Madrid,  ^^  et  seq. 
Burgos,    28 ;    the   cathedral,    ^-^ ;   Es- 

pelon,  35  ;  monastery,  ibid. 


Cadiz,  i  12. 

Camel-driver,  a,  123-4, 

Cardinal,  a,  100. 

Carre tero,  a,  20. 

Chambermaids,  30. 

Charity,  Spanish,  192. 

Church,  at  Toledo,  7  ;  at  Seville,  99 ; 
at  Barcelona,  201. 

Church  festivals,  99,  208. 

Cid,  the,  188;  story  of  his  conquest 
of  Valencia,  188-9. 

Cola  di  Rienzi,  213. 

Columbus,  200,  203. 

Confectioner's  shop,  a,  202. 

Conquerra's  bequest  to  the  State,  182. 

Cordova,  railway  journey  to,  78 ;  arri- 
val at,  80 ;  Cathedral,  81;  its  his- 
tory, 82;  constant  repairing,  84; 
oratory  of  the  Caliphs,  ibid. 

Corpus  Christi  at  Seville,  91  ;  the  Pro- 
cession, 92  ^/  seq. 

Country  fair,  or  Kermesse,  46. 

Customs,  Spanish  system  of,  29. 


221 


222 


INDEX 


Dance,  a  Sunday,  26 ;  a  country,  46 ; 

a  religious,    loi  ;  at  Seville,   107; 

at  Algeciras,  141  ;  gypsy,  167. 
Dancer,  a,  47. 
Departure  from  Spain,  210. 
Doctor,  a  Spanish,  32,  288. 
Donkey-driver,  an  Arabian,  118. 
Donkey-ride,  a,  75. 
Don  Quixote,  186. 
Diirer,  183. 
Dutch  friends,  87. 
Dutch  painters,   admiration   for   their 

own  country,  6. 


Eagles,  145,  151. 

Ebro,  River,  29,  196. 

English  painter,  a  young,  169  et  se</. 

Erens,  introduced,  4  ;  on  Spanish  girls, 

21  ;  illness,  31. 
Espada,  or  bullfighter,  55,  57. 
Espartero,     famous     bullfighter,     58  ; 

death,     179;    popular    sympathy, 

180. 
Escorial,  El,  palace,  59  ^/  seq. 


Feria,  or  Fair,  139  et  seq. 

Fez,  journey  to,  abandoned,  13 1-2. 

Fonda,  or  hotel,  30,  67,  85  ;  at  Cadiz, 
113;  at  Algeciras,  137;  at  Ronda, 
143  ;  at  Granada,  155  ;  at  Valencia, 
190;  at  liarcelona,  199. 

Fortosa,  196. 

Friars,  95  ^/  seq. 


General,  a  Spanish,  85. 
General  ife,  the,  161. 
Gerona.  210. 
Gibraltar,  133,  197-8. 
Girls,  Spanish,  192. 
Goat-herd,  a,  152. 
Govaerts,  M.,  49. 
Goya,  183. 


Granada,  154;  a  storm,  155;  hotel, 
ibid.;  Alhambra,  156  et  seq.; 
Generalife,  161  ;  gypsy  quarter, 
162  ;   Darro,  164. 

Guadalquiver,  the,  80,  97. 

Gypsies,  46  ;  at  Granada,  162  ;  a  gypsy- 
dance,  167;  their  rapacity,  168. 


Holbein,  his  Madonna,  3. 

Holland,  compared  with  Spain.    105; 

known  by  a  Spanish  ofificer,  197. 
Hotels,  Spanish,  30.  66. 


Irun,  arrival  at,  18,  19. 
Isodore,  Saint,  feast  of,  45. 


Jan  Steen,  208. 

Jewish    quarter   at    Avignon,    214;   a 

Russian  Jew,  215. 
Jewish  scribe,  a,  128-9. 

Kermesse,  a,  45. 


Lady,  a  Spanish,  201-2. 
La  Guerita.  an  actress,  205. 
Library,  the   Royal,  at   Madrid,   182; 
print-rooms,  182. 


Madonnas,  their  number,  52. 
Madrid,  39  ;  the  Museum,  40  et  seq., 

49;  revisited,  179;  a  theatre,  181  ; 

Royal  Library,  182;  Royal  Palace, 

183  ;  parting  view,  185. 
Manzanares,  the,  185. 
Marabout,  a,  or  holy  person,  124. 
Marietta,  31. 

Marquis  de  Guaranja,   86;  his  wine, 

ibid. 
Marriage,  story  of  a  Spanish,  16. 
Mediterranean,  the,  114,  138. 


INDEX 


223 


Michael  A  ngelo,  compared  with  Murillo, 
109. 

Miranda,  29. 

Miserere,  a,  194. 

Monastery,  a,  35. 

Monks,  34,  36,  190. 

Moors,  the,  and  Toledo,  73. 

Moor's  Last  Sigh,  the,  177. 

Morales,  painter,  no. 

Mountains,  150,  174. 

Murillo,  109;  compared  with  other 
painters,  ibid. 

Muses,  at  Madrid,  40,  49  ;  at  Toledo, 
73  ;  at  Seville,  109. 

Music,  Wagner  at  Brussels,  7  ;  absence 
of  effect  on  the  traveller's  com- 
panions, 8;  Spanish  love  for,  16. 

Nuns,  a  procession  of,  218. 

Officer,  an,  as  travelling  companion, 

ig6  et  seq. 
Omnibus,  an  hotel,  29. 
Ox- waggon,  an,  20. 

Painter,  the;  the  records  of  his 
journey,  2  :  his  working  den,  3 ; 
point  of  view,  4;  admiration  for 
his  own  country,  6;  visits  art 
exhibitions  in  Paris,  1 1  ;  in  the 
Museum  at  Madrid,  44,  49;  and 
the  critics,  50;  a  living  picture, 
67 ;  disguises  his  identity,  88 ; 
meets  a  fellow-artist  in  Seville, 
104;  invited  to  the  painters'  club, 
106;  criticises  Murillo,  109;  and 
the  sea,  114;  describes  sunset  at 
Tangicrs,  119;  an  African  land- 
scape, 126;  view  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, 138;  loiters  at  Algeciras, 
^42-3  ;  describes  a  view  at  Ronda, 
144;  in  the  mountains,  150-1 ;  at 
the  Alhambra,  156  et  seq.:  among 


the  gypsies,  163  et  seq.;  takes  a 
solitary  walk,  169;  meets  a  young 
colleague,  ibid.  ;  her  drawings,  171; 
again  in  the  mountains,  174  et  seq.  ; 
sunset,  177;  at  the  Royal  Library, 
Madrid,  182  :  describes  a  dignitary 
at  Valencia,  190;  in  the  Cathedral 
at  V^alencia,  193  ;  in  a  church  at 
Barcelona,  201 ;  on  the  Bridge  at 
Avignon,  216-217. 

Painter,    a   young   Spanish,    104;    his 
portrait,  105;  studio,  105, 

Palace,  the  Royal,  at  Madrid,  183. 

Palace  of  the  Popes,  at  Avignon,  213, 
217. 

Pancorbo,  29. 

Paris,  diverse  attractions  of,  9  et  seq. 

Patios.,  or  squares,  71,  1 04. 

Patrono,  the,  24. 

Perpignan,  211. 

Philip,  King,  61  et  seq. 

Photographs,  a  seller  of,  204. 

Plazas  de  Toros,  24,  54. 

Police,  Spanish,  48. 

Prado,  Museo  del,  Madrid,  40,  49. 

Preaching,  at  Toledo,  72. 

Procession  of  the  Host.  94. 

Rambla,  the,  at  Barcelona,  199. 

Raphael,  Dresden  Madonna  of,  3 ;  his 
portrait  of  a  Cardinal,  51. 

Railway,  the,  San  Sebastian  train  de 
luxe,  12;  an  intruder,  13;  the 
enemy  becomes  a  friend,  14;  dinner 
in  the  train,  15;  discomforts  of 
night-travelling,  18;  a  Spanish  line, 
78;  a  station-master,  177  ;  a  sleep- 
ing-carriage, 178;  from  Madrid  to 
Valencia,  186-7:  to  Barcelona,  196. 

Relics.  102. 

Rembrandt's   "Night  Watch,"  3,  50; 

compared  with  Velasquez,  50  ;  light 

effects,  122,  211, 
Remedy,  a  Spanish,  31. 


I   i| 


\ 


224 


INDEX 


Renouard,  Paul,  exhibition  of,  11. 

Rhone,  the,  213,  216,  217. 

Ribera,     49  ;    and     Murillo,     109  ;    a 

model  for,  182. 
Ronda,  144  ;  the  people,  146  ;  inn,  148. 
Rubens,  compared  with  Murillo,  109. 
Russian  Jew,  a,  at  Avignon,  214;  his 

story,  215. 


Sancho  Panza,  186. 

San  Sebastian,  19  ;  bullfight  at,  24. 

Seville,  90  ;  en/ifd,  91  ;  the  cathedral, 
100;  religious  dance,  101  ;  streets, 
1 03  ;  private  houses,  t'/^/d.  ;  Cafe 
Suizo,  106  ;  lower  quarters,  107. 

Snuff-takiniz,  a  Spanish  habit,  15. 

Start,  the,  6. 

Storm,  a,  97. 

Sunday,  at  San  Sebastian,  24. 

Sunshine,  the,  32,  97. 


Tagus,  the,  74,  186. 

Tangier,  115  ;  the  landing,  t'fi/d  ; 
Mussulman  officials,  117;  view  of 
the  city,  119;  streets,  120;  dress 
of  women,  121;  market,  122; 
musicians,  125  ;  a  courtyard,  127  ; 
departure  from,  131. 


"Tapestry  Weavers,"  the,  of  Velas- 
quez, 43. 

Tenorio,  Senor,  introduced,  14  ;  his 
account  of  himself,  ihid.  :  story  of 
his  marriage,  16. 

Theatre,  a  Spanish,  181  ;  the  play,  ibid.^ 
205  f/  seq. 

Toledo,  65  et  seq. ;  Sunday  at,  70 ;  a 
ramble  through,  73  et  seq. 

"Topers,"  the,  of  Velasquez,  43. 


Val  de  Pen  as,  79,  86. 

Valencia,  185  ;  the  Garden  of  Spain, 
187  ;  approach,  ibid.  ;  Valencia  del 
(!id,  188;  clergy,  190;  beggars, 
1 90- 1  ;  Market-place,  191  ;  Cathe- 
dral, 193. 

Velasquez,  42  <?/  seq.  ;  compared  with 
Rembrandt,  50;  with  Murillo,  109. 


Wagner's  Tristan  und  Isolde,  7. 
Waitresses,  21. 
Water-carrier,  a,  120. 
Women,  Spanish,  at  prayer,  201. 


ZocoDOVKR,  the,  Toledo,  73. 
Zuider  Zee,  197. 


THE    END 


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